


The Ashes

by Rexicorn



Series: Phoenix Rising [3]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, BAMF Women, But also, Canon Compliant, Deception, Feminist Themes, Fluff and Angst, Full Playthrough, I think you know that by now, Main Character Original Backstory, Modern Royalty, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Pixelberry, Threats of Violence, True Love, Violence, Wedding Planning, Whump, a bit of both, attempted coup, iRex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexicorn/pseuds/Rexicorn
Summary: Victoria only had to answer one question and everything would have fallen into place. Following an attack on the palace that throws everything out of order, she will learn just how unprepared she truly was to answer it and what it really means to take a leap of faith.Liam had almost everything he ever wanted. With his country under attack from within, he will learn more about being a leader, about balancing what he wants and what his country needs, and come to understand what must be sacrificed to be a good king.Drake never intended to fall in love with his best friends girl. When he did, he thought that was the worst thing that could ever have happened. He was wrong.
Relationships: Drake Walker & Main Character (The Royal Romance), Liam/Main Character (The Royal Romance)
Series: Phoenix Rising [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365226
Comments: 25
Kudos: 12





	1. Need The Sun To Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shot rang out and what came next. 
> 
> ***CW descriptions of wounds and first aid***

_Been in the dark for weeks and I’ve realized you’re all I need_   


The gun screamed as it went off, the sound reverberating through her, shunting her into the past and the last time someone had shot at her. Victoria turned, her eyes closing automatically, but she could never outrun a bullet. She felt an impact, first against her body and then her crashing to the ground. Blood spurted, coating her in liquid heat. She couldn’t breathe, her chest was in a vice, she was dying. Panic ricocheted through her, but the pain was centred on the harsh landing on the floor and in the weight above her. She opened her eyes.

“Drake?” He was lying across her, his body a shield. His eyes were shut, and it was his blood pouring out onto her. “Drake!” He was heavy, she couldn’t shove him off her. The masked man stepped up beside them both. “You bastard!” Victoria's eyes stung with tears as she got one hand free and pushed Drakes shoulder, rolling him off her to lie on his back. The sounds of feet running and people crying faded into the background as she ran her fingers towards the source of the bleeding, finding the torn fabric and ripping it further to expose the wound. She heard the click of the pistol’s hammer, but she had to help Drake. She couldn’t look up. Her hands were shaking.

A scuffle above her, and she heard the gun go off again, so close and loud; she flinched and dove over Drake, her hair falling out of its updo and soaking in the blood on his chest. A new presence crouched beside her and she sobbed almost too afraid to face the enemy and his gun, but it was Bastien’s face that swam into view. “Help him.”

He nodded grimly, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket to pull out a clean handkerchief. It wasn’t sterile, but Victoria grabbed it and shoved it against the hole in Drake’s shoulder. Bastien reached down, grasping Drake beneath his armpit and helping her heave Drake up. “This way.”

Victoria barely saw what Bastien did to make a small doorway appear out of the wall. She kept her head down, Drakes arm over her, her other hand pressed to the previously white handkerchief. Her arm was going numb and it felt like there were spiders crawling the length of it. She risked a quick glance to see blood flowing from her upper arm, but she couldn’t stop to check it out.

“Quinn?” Drake's voice was so quiet. She turned her head; his eyes were barely open.

“Hang on Drake, we’ve got you,” she hurried to say. “Just try and walk with us, OK?”

His feet stumbled along, but he did his best to keep upright, leaning heavily on the pair. Victoria let her tears fall freely, she didn’t have the energy to waste trying to stop them. How had this night gotten so off track? How was she dragging one of her best friends from the ballroom where he had taken a bullet for her?

That realisation slammed into her. Drake had seen the gun and reacted by throwing himself over her, taking the shot that was meant for her. Her knees shook and she wobbled on her heel, hearing a cracking that made her jump, fearing more gunshots in this narrow escape route. It was her shoe breaking. She had to pause to kick it off, then the other after taking a step on uneven feet and almost dropping Drake. Bastien hissed at her to pull herself together and she left the shoes behind walked on bare feet wherever Bastien was taking them.

“What… happened?” Drake mumbled, the words trailing into a sharp cry of pain. Victoria pressed harder on the wound.

“Just hold on Drake.” To Bastien, she asked: “Where are we going? He needs a hospital.”

“The palace is in lock-down,” Bastien responded curtly. “No-one gets in or out right now. We have to contain the threat to subdue them.”

“But… what about Liam?” Her words were swallowed by another sob. “What happens to Liam? Oh, God.”

“My guys have him,” Bastien said. Victoria could see his face when Drake passed out again and dropped his head. Bastien’s profile was taut. “I have to trust that they’ve got him. Our focus is on Drake right now.” He glanced at her over Drakes dark hair. “Are you with me? Do you have him?”

Victoria nodded sharply. “I… yes. I have him.”

“Good.” Bastien reached a new door and shoved, opening them up to the cool night air. “This way.”

Her feet felt the chill as soon as she stepped onto the stone slabs of the path and she almost cried out at the sensation. It was like walking on ice. Bastien guided them along a secluded short path until they came upon a driveway she didn’t recognise. It wasn’t the main thoroughfare as used by the guests that night. It wasn’t the driveway she had been driven from the night of the Coronation Ball. There was a small selection of cars which looked like they would be more at home in the middle of a war than a fine palace. Bastien slipped a key into Victoria’s hand, opening the door and helping her slide Drake onto the backseat. He left a streak of blood as they dragged him in. Victoria touched his forehead, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes.

“He’s cold.”

“Under the seat.” She followed the order and found a cache of supplies, including first aid supplies. She tore open a small sealed package to reveal gauze, which she packed over the wound after removing the stained handkerchief, dropping it to the floor. She grabbed another two packages, adding to the wound before grabbing a warm woollen blanket, which she spread out over Drake and tucked around him, holding everything on his chest tightly to him and hopefully conserving his heat.

Bastien was in the driver’s seat igniting the engine and tapping a password into the onboard computer, bringing up a map. “This will guide you to the safe house.”

“What?” Victoria looked up from where she was cradling Drakes head in her lap. “You said, no-one—”

“I know what I said.” Bastien snapped, turning around in the seat, the moonlight outside highlighting his frown. “You’re going to drive Drake to a safe house and then you’re going to stay put. The code to get in is 35-82-70. Wash his wound and dress it, can you do that?”

Victoria wanted to protest. Wanted to cry and beg him to take them to a hospital, or failing that to at least accompany them wherever they had to go. She was unarmed and adrenaline was rushing her blood around her body so fast it made her head spin. He had a gun and experience in keeping a level head in these sorts of life or death situations. But in the backseat, curled around Drake she felt a calmness descend. She had enough experience to handle this. “I know how to treat bullet wounds.” She said, her voice edged with steel. “I’ve got him.”

“Good.” Bastien moved out of the seat and Victoria hefted the layers of her gown to climb over the centre console to slip in the driver’s seat. Bastien held the door briefly. “Victoria, this man is like a son to me. Do you understand? You keep him alive until we can come for him.”

Victoria nodded. She was already searching for the memories she knew would help her save him and her tears had stopped. “I’ll save Drake, you go and save Liam.”

“I will.” Bastien slammed the door and Victoria pressed her bare foot to the accelerator, lowering the handbrake and driving into the night.

*

Thank God the car was an automatic. Victoria didn’t think she had anything left in her brain to cope with driving a stick as well as following the winding, narrow paths away from the palace. Every so often Drake moaned from behind her and she would glance in terror at the rearview mirror, which she had angled towards the backseat, not caring about what might be behind them. Every moan showed he was alive at least, but how was she going to manage him when she got wherever she was if he was still unconscious. One problem at a time. She stared ahead and drove. It took a near-miss at a corner, where she almost clipped a tree beside the road before she even thought to switch the headlights of the car on. Drake cried out in pain as she veered to the left, her heart in her throat. The wheels gripped the dirt road and held fast. She righted the car again, illuminating the path finally.

“I’m sorry!” Victoria yelped to the backseat.

“Quinn?” Drake managed his voice a whisper.

“That’s right,” she called back, checking the map icon. “I’m here. We’re nearly there. Stay awake, OK? Stay awake for me, please.”

“Argh!” His agony as the car bumped over the uneven ground shot fear through her, but if it kept him conscious she would drive off-road. Whatever it would take. Never mind Bastiens warning, she would never forgive herself if he died on her watch. Died from the shot aimed for her. Victoria shuddered, but her tears stayed at bay. She knew what to do; she’d done this before. She stared at the road ahead, rounding a corner to finally see a secluded cottage up ahead. She swung the car around the path, disappearing behind the property and slamming the brakes hard enough to stall the vehicle. Drake cried out again, but she was hauling the handbrake up and fumbling with the door handle. Her feet burned hot when they touched the cold ground when she slid out of the car, but she ignored it and went to the back door and flung it open.

Drakes blanket was looser than it had been, but he was still on the back seat. His hand had reached for the wound and she saw him blink. He was awake. She grabbed her skirts and stepped up beside him, bent double to fit in the narrow space that wasn’t taken up by his broad frame.

“Drake, let me see.” She tugged the blanket down and reached for the gauze. He moaned in pain, but she wasn’t thinking about anything more than the wound. She peeled back the layers of gauze. The top one was still white, though the one beneath was saturated with blood. He shifted beneath her and Victoria caught his hand without looking when he made to push her away from the wound. “I need to see it.” She lifted the last barrier to reveal his punctured skin. “The bleeding has slowed right down. Good, that’s really good.” She smiled down at him, but his eyes were scrunched up, his head turned towards the backseat. She touched his cheek to find that although he was still too cold, he wasn’t freezing. Her heart leapt again. “Drake, I’ve got you. I’m going to open the door and then I’ll be back for you. Hang on one minute, OK. I’ll be back.”

“Quinn—” he reached for her but she was already scurrying out of the car backwards with rustling fabric, letting his hand fall over his chest.

The code Bastien had fired at her was bouncing around her skull in a pattern, two numbers, then two more, then the final two and then it began again. She started muttering it under her breath as she approached the front door. The sky was so dark with clouds that she had no means of light. There was probably a flashlight in the car, she thought, but she was already at the wall. She followed it around the corner. Her skin was raising in goose flesh in the cold December night. No, not December, she realised. January. It was the new year. Cold, wet spots began to sink into her, and she realised the snow had started up again.

Her hand slid from stone to wood and she had reached the door. She groped for a handle and the key Bastien had left her. She felt for the lock and with a few efforts, her frozen fingers got the key to fit.

Leaving the door shut, but ready to be unlocked, she turned and stumbled back to the car, her legs shaking with every step. She tugged her gossamer wrap over her shoulders, finding a dried smear across one and remembering all at once that she had her own wound to tend to. Drake first.

At the car, her numb fingers struggled with the door handle before she was able to fling it open. “Drake?”

“Quinn.”

“Good.” Her teeth were chattering, but she reached under the seats again searching for a flashlight, which she found atop another blanket, this one made of foil. That might help. She pulled both out and switched the light on. It was a heavy-duty thing, the bulb bigger than her hand with a handle to hold the weighty item. The car brightened immediately, bright enough to make Drake wince at the sudden light. “Right, you need to help me here. I can’t get you out of here otherwise. You’ll need to get up, can you do that?”

“Tired, Quinn.”

“Drake Walker,” she snapped, her shivering undermining the authority in her tone. She pulled the blanket off him and hurriedly folded it under her elbow, her teeth chattering as she barked orders. “You get up right now and get your ass into that house so I can fix you up. _Right now_.”

For a moment he didn’t move, but then he shifted, agonisingly slow, inching his body in stages along the seat towards Victoria standing by the door. The snow started to fall faster and Victoria was grateful to the flashlight, which was already warm to the touch. When he had scooted far enough along the seat that he could hang his legs out of the car, Victoria reached for his hand and helped steady him into a seat position. The flashlight beam wobbled in her trembling hand as she hoisted his arm along her shoulder and pulled. She left the car door open; she would need to return for the last supplies.

Slowly, painfully slowly, with a steady drumbeat of moans from Drake, the pair walked the path that Victoria had already trod. The snow had half filled her steps already and every step numbed her bare feet more. “Just… a… little…further…”

She was so tired already, tired and frozen to the bone. The glaring light she cast from the torch bowed with their trek as her hand drooped. There was no time to feel exhaustion. Drake needed her.

At the door, she thrust the flashlight into Drakes free hand and guided his wrist to angle the beam towards the lock so she could see it. She grabbed the ice-cold key and turned then pushed them inside. A flashing red light indicated the presence of the alarm, but she made a beeline for a sofa to deposit Drake onto, unfurling the damp blanket from her elbow and draping it haphazardly over him. She grabbed the flashlight and turned back to find the alarms keypad, punching the code in slowly as her fingers shivered violently. The last thing she needed was to set the alarm off by mistyping it. The red LED ceased it’s warning flash and Victoria moved to the nearest light-switch. It flicked down with a harsh click that sound all too like the hammer of the pistol and she flinched, but darkness remained.

“Shit.” She turned back to Drake who was watching her, his eyes focused. “Drake?” Victoria went to him, perching on the edge of the sofa beside him. He was laying back, his hand pressed to his shoulder once again, the blanket pooled on his lap. His waistcoat was red all down one side, the blood obscuring the golden threads of the embroidered leaves.

“I think I’m bleeding again,” Drake said wearily.

Victoria peeled his hand away to check again and angled the torch up. There was the shine of fresh red blood soaking into his shirt. “ _Shit_ ,” she muttered again.

Drake drew in a shaky breath and a chill brushed against Victorias back. The door was still open. She turned back to the doorway. No lights probably meant no power, which meant no heat either. She didn’t want to go back outside. Her toes curled at the thought, but she needed the first aid kid she had uncovered in the car. No heat, no light, no supplies, no shoes. She couldn’t stop shivering as the noise in her head grew louder and louder. Drake winced again, a long groan of pain. There was too much and she needed to do something, but what?

Her breath misted before her, rapidly forming clouds over her heaving chest. _Shit, shit, shit._

The thought that cut through the noise and panic was not in her voice. For a moment she could feel him beside her as Jimmy growled inside her head: “ _You know what to do_.”

“I know what to do.” Victoria echoed, except she didn’t feel like Victoria at that moment. She was Riley again, the scruffy teenage daughter of a criminal. Drake wasn’t Drake anymore either; he was just one of Jimmy’s crew, dragged off the road riddled with bullets and no chance of going to a hospital. Laid out on the slab of the large table in their clubhouse writhing in pain. Jimmy barking orders at her, fifteen and up to her elbows in gore as she picked out the shattered pieces of bone that had once been a rib.

Drake wasn’t hurt that bad. One shot. Nothing to it. Face blank, pushing past her frozen discomfort, Victoria tugged him forwards, ignoring his yelp and muttered curse. Numb fingers managed his buttons, pulling off the waistcoat and dropping it, reaching for his shirt and repeating the motion until she could slide the shirt off his left side where the blood had come from, peeling the gauze off once and for all, dropping it wetly on the table before the sofa. She held up the torch to check the wound on his front; Victoria stood and bent around to see the back where the bullet had entered. “Through and through,” she murmured. Jimmy muttered in her ear again that this was a good sign. The bleeding had stopped, but he would need stitches to be on the safe side. Wash the wound, stitch the skin, dress the injury. One, two, three. Keep him awake. Keep him warm. Keep him alive.

But first things first. The bleeding had stopped. She could take a moment to gather her supplies.

She laid him back and lifted the blanket over his shoulder. “Stay here.” She ordered. He said something in response, but she didn’t hear it.

Grabbing the torch she turned back to the door. The snow had begun to drift inside the house. Her feet were cold, but she could feel them again. That meant it would hurt, but she drew herself together and let determination force her outside, hugging the thin shawl close as she braced against the wind and tugged the door shut behind her, the key still in the lock, which rattled as she hefted it shut. The torch illuminated the fat snowflakes and she hated them at that moment. They stung her eyes and wet her hair, moistening the blood that was caked in the locks, which trickled down over her ice-white skin. She pushed on. Every step was agony and she skidded as she turned the corner on the slick cold. The car was stood with the back door wide open, headlights still on and blaring beams at the trees, snow piling on the backseat. She grabbed the foil package and hauled out the box of first aid supplies. Then she turned and left the car as she’d found it, not wanting to stop in case she just decided to lie down and close her eyes in the falling snow.

Back in the house, Drake called her name as soon as she pushed the door open and then shut it with her hip. It was dark inside, the windows becoming steadily covered in impacted snow. She carted the box to the table and dropped it, setting down the flashlight to shine across Drakes body.

Drake was still speaking but Victoria ignored him, reaching into the case. Her hair fell over her face, slapping wetly across her skin. She mutely reached up and found some of the pins that had been keeping her hair up hanging by a few strands, the fancy comb nowhere to be found. She shoved her hair up and pinned it back. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. She dove back for the supplies.

“Need water,” she muttered. Wash a wound in warm soapy water, irrigate the hole. Her father was in her ear and she peered towards the kitchen opposite the sofa. No power, no water? Certainly, it wouldn’t be warm and couldn’t be boiled sterile. Her hand brushed a box of gloves that she tore open and pulled over her hands.

A hand clamped down on her forearm as she tugged the blue latex on. She followed it to Drake leaning forward, his mouth moving. His words were fuzzy and no match for Jimmy. She grabbed the next glove, shaking off his hand. There were alcohol swabs in little packets in the box. “That will kill the tissue,” she murmured. “But no choice.”

“ _Victoria_!” she almost dropped the little foil wrapped square as Drake shouted right by her ear. She turned blank eyes on him. “Victoria, you’re bleeding.”

Victoria glanced at her arm again. The shallow graze was burning as blood slowly seeped from it. “It’ll keep.” She moved onto the sofa next to Drake again. “Hold still.” She held one hand to his chest and the other dabbed around the cut. He swore loudly, but she kept up the rhythm of small dabs around the wound. She didn’t want to damage the wrecked skin any further with the harsh chemicals, but it was all she had and she needed to clean the shirt fibres and gun powder residue away if nothing else.

The torn skin was pale beneath the blood as she worked, widening the circle around the wound with the next soaked swab, drawing the blood away. “You’ve lost a fair amount of blood, but you should be OK as long as you don’t start bleeding again.” She remembered saying the same words to Jimmy when he received a cut to the neck not long before she was able to help put him behind bars. Her mother had thrown something at him — she never learned what — after his latest quickie with a bartender came out. Given how badly her father had been bloodied, Victoria was amazed they hadn’t killed each other sooner. Jimmy was just looking for a reason to get rid of Kate by then.

She dropped the bloodied swabs onto the table with the gauze from earlier and moved on, shining the torch over the wound to see if it would start to bleed again now that she’d disturbed it. “No suture kit.” She felt a rush of anger at the inadequacy of the first aid kit. Jimmy’s gang protected their connections with the hospital fiercely; gathering supplies of everything they needed to perform their own stitches, or for Victoria to do as she grew in experience. The bullet hole, with another glance, was probably too wide for her to stitch together. She adjusted her plan; pack the wound, then bandage. That would suffice. A tampon would be best, but once again the supplies skipped out on this vital component. Maybe in a bathroom.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Victoria placed fresh gauze over his shoulder and laid the blanket over the top. “Don’t move.”

“Victoria, wait—” but she was gone, aiming the circle of light down the hallway where three doors hid rooms from view. The first was a bedroom, the bed made. She stored that tidbit for later. The next was a closet filled with fishing equipment and the last was finally the bathroom. She went to the medicine cabinet and started rifling through. This room was clearly stocked for people who didn’t menstruate as there was nothing of use in there. She let out a sharp cry of frustration, but Jimmy was still with her. Telling her she had this. _She had this_.

Victoria turned and stalked back to Drake.

“Victoria, stop a second,” Drake said. He was still deathly pale. The blood loss, the cold. Victoria marched to him and reached into her box of tricks yet again. Gauze. It was better than nothing. There were some eyewash pods in the box. That would do. She changed her gloves and opened the gauze, cracking off the top of the plastic pods to soak the gauze in saline. “This is going to hurt, right?”

“Hold still.” She said again and pressed the dampened pack to his wound.

“Jesus— _fuck_!” Drake hissed, clamping his good hand on his knee and trying hard to follow her orders. Victoria worked the pack into the wound as best she could, trying not to disturb the fragile flesh. “God, _Quinn_.”

“Hang on.” she left the pack in place, two thirds into the bullet hole. Then she grabbed a fresh, dry piece and tape to finish the dressing. While Drake panted and swore, she repeated the action on his back, where the bullet had entered, taping gauze over both wounds; the smaller entry wound, the larger exit.

“You need hospitalisation, but this should keep,” Victoria told him in a clipped voice. “You need to get warm now.”

“The power’s out?” Drake asked, breathing hard as if he’d run a marathon. “No heat.”

“There’s a bed,” Victoria replied. She stood and reached for his good arm, first tugging off the ruined shirt before pulling him up. “Come on.”

Drake braced himself before pushing up, leaning gratefully on her. He had the blanket gripped around him and they slowly walked the short length of the hallway to the bedroom. It was no warmer in the room, but Victoria pulled back the bedsheets, glad for the staff who had made it with a thick woollen blanket at the foot of the bed. She helped him fall back onto the pillows, then clinically reached for his belt, to unbuckle it. Drake was too distracted by the pain and catching his breath to stop her, and she slid the belt free from the loops, then crouched to yank his dress shoes off.

“Quinn?”

“Get under the covers,” Victoria ordered, holding back the duvet and waiting for him to comply. Then she unfolded the blanket to lay over the top of him. He would take a while to heat up, but it should suffice.

“What about you?” Drake asked, resting his head against the pile of pillows. Victoria grabbed one from the other part of the double bed and tucked it against his back, trapping as much air inside as possible to heat up.

“There are spares in the closet.” She lied. “How do you feel?” Victoria placed the back of her hand against his forehead. He was still chilled and clammy, but she wasn’t worried about that; he would improve as he warmed up.

“Fine,” Drake said, then winced. “Like shit. I’ll be OK.”

Victoria nodded. “I’ll see if I can find something for the pain. You can rest. I’ll come back and check on you in a little while.”

“Wait, Victoria,” he tried to pull his arm free from the blankets, but she’d tucked them under the mattress. She stopped and turned back, aiming the flashlight away from his face. “Thank you.”

“You took a bullet for me,” Victoria said flatly. “It was the least I could do.”

“The others,” Drake started, swallowing hard before continuing. “They’ll be alright. Bastien got them out.”

Victoria nodded, but couldn’t reply. Not around the hot coal in her throat. Not over the screaming in her head. Not against the pounding of her desperate heartbeat.

She turned and left him.

Victoria went to the bathroom with the flashlight, shining it against the mirror. She looked like hell. Her face was splashed with Drakes blood and it was streaked across her neck and chest in a hideous pattern. The golden gown was brown where blood had soaked the fabric. So much for making better memories.

Behind her the ghost of Jimmy seemed to take form in the darkness, looming over her shoulder. She could have sworn she felt his hand on her as he praised her work. “ _Just like I taught you._ ”

She nodded. “Just like you taught me.”

His spectre lingered as she headed for the kitchen to open every drawer and cupboard, checking the rest of the supplies. A large knife glinted from a block on the counter and she didn’t hesitate before pulling it free. It was sharp. It would have to do. Her chilled hands were full, the flashlight in one, the knife in the other, but she kept looking through the place. She found the fuse box and tried the switches, not expecting them to work. Nothing happened. She was so tired. She leaned against the wall of the house and shut her eyes in a long blink. That would have to do. She couldn’t sleep. Not with the enemies still out in the world. Not before she got Drake through this night. Not until she knew Liam was alright.

The dam shook and cracked. A tear worked out of her gritty eyes. It stung.

“Liam…” she murmured.

With her knife and her flashlight, she stumbled over to the sofa and collapsed against the cushion. No sleep. She couldn’t risk it, not when Drake was vulnerable. She would hold the line between him and whatever else tried to come for them.

Victoria sat and watched the door as the snow fell outside. “Happy New Year,” she whispered in the frozen dark clutching her knife tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for the chapter is by James Bay, Need The Sun To Break. 
> 
> Ooh boy. This isn't ready. I'm not ready. But if I wait to be ready I'll never post this so please bear with me as I try to wrangle this fic that has already gotten away from me. It's not finished by any means, but I'm going to start posting what I have on a semi-regular basis while getting the rest down. I have no idea how long it's going to be. I'd like to say I know how it's going to end, but these characters and this story have just taken over.
> 
> Have I said enough to scare you all off yet? Why am I like this? Anyway....... enjoy?


	2. I'll Risk It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What feels like an endless night does eventually come to an end.

_Stand your ground, win or lose I gotta see this out_

There was no way to track time in the safe house. Victoria sat on the sofa, tucked her feet beneath her skirts and wrapped her shawl around her, wishing she had anything else to cover her. Her eyelids were so heavy, but she forced herself to stay awake. Awake, shivering, with her sights trained on the door. The flashlight lit up the locked threshold, ensuring that she would see anyone trying to enter the property and casting her in shadow. The knife never left her grip.

After a while, Victoria got up. It should have taken moments to unfurl her stiff legs and stand, but when she went to move her limbs didn’t want to respond. She sat on the sofa, hating every part of her reluctant body.

“Move,” she barked at her legs. “Get up.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, she reached for her calf and shoved it out from under her thigh. It hit the floor with a thump, but needles began to claw up her skin. It hurt to wake her limbs, but she had to get up. Her sluggish body couldn’t defend anyone if they broke in, never mind the blade in her hand. Fear spiralled out from inside her chest. What if someone chose that moment to attack? Her heart shuddered, her muscles tensed, ready to run. She couldn’t run. She would fall flat at the first step. “ _Move_ ,” she whispered to herself again.

With every second she took forcing her body to hurry and get up, her lungs fought for breath as if she were submerged in water. She had to set the knife down to grip the arms of the sofa and haul herself upright. She missed its cool weight and grabbed it again once she was certain she wouldn’t fall over. The flashlight was the second thing she reached for, the light spinning around the room as she turned. Her head spun, dizziness shooting up her spine into her head and she shut her eyes, grabbed the back of the sofa to steady herself.

“No more,” she told herself. As if she could mind over matter her bone-weary, frozen body. “Come on.”

Each step hurt. Her legs were so stiff and cold and her bare feet were lumps of ice that couldn’t tell when they were in the air or hitting the floor, but slowly she traversed the short distance from the sofa to the bedroom. The door was open a tiny crack and she shoved it open, with no delicacy or caution. Not with her useless hand, filled by the handle of the knife. The blade caught the torchlight and pierced the darkness across the bed where Drake lay, unmoving.

“Drake,” she muttered. He didn’t stir. Victoria stumbled across the room until her hip crashed onto the mattress. He groaned and blinked awake. “Thank God.”

“Victoria?” He was alert in an instant, going to push himself upright, forgetting his wound until he put his weight on the wrong arm and cried out. “Son of a—”

“Just stay still,” Victoria said. She tossed the knife onto the bedside table, born out of the struggle to handle anything with finesse. She pressed that same hand to Drake’s forehead feeling for signs of heat. It felt like plunging her hand into boiling water and caused a new spike of fear. Drake winced and fixed troubled dark eyes on her.

“You’re like ice,” Drake said, worry coating his words. He used his other hand to shift up the pillows, managing to get into what was almost a seated position. Victoria ignored his movements, to reach for the dressing on the wound. She fumbled for the tape and peeled some back as Drake grunted with pain and ceased his moving.

“Is it infected?” Victoria asked out loud, her mind running with disaster scenarios of septicaemia and organ failure. “No, no, no.” She shone the flashlight on the skin she exposed, nudging the packing with a shaking finger. Drake cried out and instinctively gripped her arm with his good hand, digging his fingers into her flesh.

“Stop, please,” he yelped. “Please, it hurts, _Quinn_ …”

His skin was fine. No telltale red of infection; the wound was clean. She taped the dressing back down. “Not infected.”

“I feel _fine_.” Drake insisted. “Just sore, but Victoria you’re scaring me.”

She turned her blank stare on him. Internally she was running through the reasons why he was so hot to the touch if the wound wasn’t infected. Had she missed something? Did something else happen to him, another wound that she hadn’t seen and left to fester unintentionally? Jimmy came back, though of course, he had never really left. His words snapped through her brain, rattling off times she had messed up in her role as a makeshift field nurse. The time she missed a piece of shrapnel that had worked it’s way under the skin of a prospect, skyrocketing his temperature and bringing him to a clammy sweat before someone else found the wound and was able to save his life, albeit with a hefty gouge of flesh having to be removed from his thigh. Jimmy had hit her just once for that infraction though his angry words still remained long after the bruise on her jaw had faded. Drake couldn’t die. She had worked too hard for him to die now. She would never forgive herself if she killed him.

“Drake, where does it hurt.” She locked eyes with him, her tone stern. “Tell me the truth, where does it hurt.”

“My shoulder,” Drake replied, confused. “Where I got shot. Everywhere else is fine and I’m better now, but you look awful, Victoria.”

“Where else?” Victoria cut through his words. “You’re too hot, what’s hurting?”

“I’m not too hot,” Drake said. His hand slid down her arm and curled around her wrist gently. “ _You_ are freezing.”

The thought shot through her that there might be a thermometer in the first aid kit and she stood, wobbling on tired legs again and hurried from the bedroom, slamming her shoulder into the wall by the door as she struggled to keep her balance at her relative high speed. Drake was calling after her, but she reached the kit and rifled through it before closing on the still-sealed package with an old fashioned forehead strip. They’d used all manner of different temperature taking devices at the club, but her mom had sworn by this particular type. Never mind that it wasn’t a great indicator of core temperature. It would have to do.

Back in the room, Drake had managed to push himself into a seated position, his legs swinging over the side of the bed, dislodging the three blankets she had piled upon him. He shuddered as the cold air swept across his naked chest.

“Victoria-”

Victoria ripped open the pack and slapped the strip over his forehead, with a hurried “Shh.” Drake sighed but stayed obediently still for her. His hand reached out and he pressed his palm to her waist while she shone the light over the strip to watch the colours change. She barely noticed.

“What’s the damage, doc?” He asked, seeming to understand that she was focused on his health right then and not on his concerns for her.

Victoria peered closer. “You’re somewhere between 98 and 99.”

“Uh-huh, that tells me nothing, Miss America,” Drake said drily. “What is that in Celsius?”

“Er… between 37 and 38 degrees.”

“See?” Drake said tugging her hand down. “I’m fine. Maybe a little hot, but you did pile blankets on me. You put me back together. OK?” His eyes were round with concern as he encouraged her to look at him. In the poor light, his brown eyes were almost black, but the warmth that emanated from them was unmistakable. “I’m alright.”

She couldn’t help herself from scanning him again. He looked chilled now without the blankets, so she nudged him back and lifted the red blanket from the car over him again. “Lie back.”

“Victoria, I’m rested,” Drake argued. He tried to sit up again but winced at his shoulder again and Victoria took advantage of his momentary distraction to cover him up to his neck again. “OK, fine, I’ll rest but you have to take the blanket.”

“I’m alright,” she muttered, but she couldn’t help but eye the woollen blanket with a desire to take it that was so strong she could have cried.

“I’m fine with two layers.” Drake insisted. “You take it.” Victoria didn’t move. “If you don’t I’ll just throw on the floor and no-one will have it. Take it.”

Victoria covered him with the duvet and then fingered the soft fibres of the thick blanket. A deep shiver hit her as if her body was trying to labour the point. “Alright.” She whispered. Drake looked relieved as she took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The warmth trapped in the blanket hit her instantly and she snuggled it close together. It was long enough to reach the floor draped over her shoulders and held close under her neck. She sighed, pathetically grateful for it.

She worked an arm free to grab the flashlight handle and with some effort, she grasped the handle of the knife between it and her fingers.

“Why do you have that?” Drake wanted to know.

“Just in case.” she breathed, her attention on the heat she was finally feeling under the blanket. “Go back to sleep.”

“Victoria…” Drake looked pained. “You could stay. If the door’s locked you could lie down here and get some rest yourself. I can keep watch if you need?” Even as he spoke a yawn took over.

“Don’t be stupid,” Victoria rebuffed. “You’ve been shot. Drake,” she locked eyes with him, “I owe you my life.” Her mouth hung open, words failing. She closed it softly.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, but his eyes were drifting shut in the comfort of the bed. Victoria was glad. He should sleep while he could. She turned and headed back to the sofa, glad of the cocoon of warmth she now had. The air on her face was still so cold and the blanket was no match for real heat, the heat of a fire or a radiator or even a hot shower, but things had improved exponentially for her with the cover. She curled up with the knife beside her and the flashlight angled back at the door, wrapping the blanket tightly. Morning couldn’t be far away. She could hold out til then.

*

“Where is she?” Liam paced the through the house, slamming open doors, his nerves on edge. “Where’s Victoria?”

Bastien, leaning on Maxwell for support, took a great gulping breath. Maxwell glanced uneasily at him.

“Liam, I think we should do something about Bastien,” Maxwell suggested. “He doesn’t look so good.”

Liam stopped and turned, taking in the sight of his personal guard as he tried to stand on his own and winced when he put pressure on his leg. Shame flooded him even as his fraught nerves still jangled with worry for Victoria. “Bastien, of course.” He hurried over and helped Maxwell seat Bastien on the sofa before lifting his leg to rest on the coffee table.

“Your Highness, I’m fine,” Bastien protested gently. “It’s just a minor injury. I’ll be alright.”

“Nonsense,” Liam replied firmly, but with kindness. “You sustained the injury getting me to safety. I won’t let you sit here in pain when I could help. Hana, have you found the first aid kit?”

Hana replied in the affirmative, hurrying from the bathroom and placing it down. Bertrand was clinking mugs together in the kitchenette, turning the tap and recoiling from the splash as the rarely used taps spat water before managing a steady stream. Liam opened the kit and searched through and with Hanas help the two were able to bind Bastiens ankle, clean and dress the wound on his knee and do the same on the deep cut on his cheek. Maxwell and Bertrand appeared with steaming mugs of tea.

“I was in charge of sugar,” Maxwell said with a weak smile. “So it’s sweet.”

“Maxwell believes in the healing power of sweet tea,” Bertrand said softly, though not without affection. He sat beside his brother and clapped him on the shoulder, leaving his hand lingering. Worry was etched across his face and he hadn’t seemed able to let his brother out of his sight since the shooting began. “Drink up everyone.”

Hana cupped her tea in her hands. “Is anyone else injured?”

The men assessed themselves for anything amiss, but other than a shallow cut on Liam’s forehead that didn’t even require a plaster, they were mostly unscathed. Satisfied that everyone was well Hana sipped her tea quietly.

“Now, Bastien, please will you tell me where Victoria is?” Liam asked, trying to hold back the swell of fear that rose in his chest once again. “You said she was safe so I assumed she would be here.”

Bastien took the mug offered to him by Maxwell but didn’t drink. “I sent her to a different safe house.”

“But she’s… she’s alright?” Liam asked his throat tight. “She wasn’t injured?”

Bastien’s eyes were hooded. Liam held himself back from gripping the man by his lapels and shaking whatever he was holding back out of him. It took all he had not to pounce. Finally, Bastien raised his head to meet Liam’s eyes. “Drake was shot.”

The air went out of the room. Collectively the group recoiled from the news that one of their friends was gravely injured in the attack. Hanas hand flew up to cover her mouth, while Maxwell’s jaw fell open. He stared at the floor, frowning hard.

Liam swallowed. “Was he alive?”

“Yes.” Bastien nodded. “Victoria and I got him out of the ballroom through one of the servants’ passages. He was alive and breathing when we got him into the car.”

“Conscious?”

“Barely,” Bastien admitted. “He was slipping in and out.”

Liam stood, knocking the table with his knee and spilling tea from the two cups still sat beside him. “I have to go, I have to find him. Bastien where are they?”

“Liam—” Maxwell squeaked as his brother stood.

“Liam, hold on,” Bertrand tried, holding out his hands. Bastien on the couch tried to stand, but with a cry of pain, he fell back. Hana moved to sit beside him, touching his shoulder to keep him in place and looking carefully at his injuries once again. Bertrand stepped closer to Liam who backed away, turning for the door. “King Liam, _wait_!”

The sharp, authoritative tone succeeded in stalling Liam’s haste. He stopped, hands clenched into fists, his back rigid. Bertrand moved around him to look him in the eye. “Now you and I both know that Victoria is a formidable woman, capable of a great many things. If she is with Drake and Bastien trusted that she was able to care for him, then we must as well. Bastien would never have left her alone with him if he didn’t believe Drake was in good hands.” He boldly stepped closer, resting comforting hands on Liam’s upper arms. “I want to see them as well and know they are safe, but we have to trust that they are until we can move. Right now you may well put them in more danger if you leave this house looking for them. Do you understand?”

Liam nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like he had several trapped in his chest, reverberating around his rib cage. Bertrand’s words made sense. If Drake were in dire straits, Bastien would have gone with them. Drake had to be alright. Victoria would make sure of it. They would protect each other.

He reached for Bertrand and returned the gesture, clasping his shoulder tightly in thanks. When he turned around again, he was in better control. “Alright. We know Drake and Victoria are safe, or as safe as can be given the circumstances.” He walked over to sit on the armchair by the couch and Bertrand returned to his brothers’ side. “Who else? Does anyone know the status of our other friends?”

“Initial reports state no fatalities,” Bastien said to a collection sigh of relief.

“Hana and I helped a few people out,” Maxwell said quietly. “In the confusion, we at least found each other and got some people outside. Penelope, for one, right Hana?”

“Yes, and I saw Madeleine and her mother outside.” Hana put forth.

Maxwell turned to Bertrand. “Savannah and Bartie were nowhere near the ballroom when it happened, thank goodness. She’d already gone back to her apartment by then.”

“The attack was centred on the ballroom,” Bastien added. “There are no reports of fighting anywhere else in the palace.”

“Good, that’s… I’m so relieved.” Bertrand said stiffly, the creases around his eyes betraying his attempts to seem unfazed by the thought of Bartie and his mother in danger. He squeezed them shut and pressed his fingers and thumb to his eyes with a quickly suppressed shudder.

“Did anyone see Olivia?” Hana asked.

“I did briefly,” Liam said. It was hard to remember; the lights were out initially, and then the lighting was so dim afterwards that the ballroom was a riot of gold and red, with the black of the attackers interspersed, flashes and bangs going off as the guns fired. “She aided the guardsmen getting my father and Regina to safety. I think she went with them for added cover.” He could see her so clearly whirling on someone attempting to rush his father before his guards could reach him. The blur of scarlet appeared and the attacker was soon laid out cold. “I think it’s fair to say she’s alright.”

“Lady Kiara was wounded,” Bastien reported, listing those he had seen. “Also that chap on your retainer, your Grace, he was shot.” Bertrand frowned.

“Justin? Victoria’s press secretary?”

“That’s him,” Bastien said.

Maxwell went pale. “How badly?”

“I’m not sure, but as I said there were no fatalities, so I can only assume he wasn’t grievously wounded,” Bastien said. Maxwell didn’t look greatly thrilled by this assessment; he sank back into his chair and gazed into the depths of his tea, deep in thought.

“Anyone else?” Hana asked and Bastien listed the remainder of the walking wounded.

Liam stopped listening after a while, drawing into himself. Drake shot. He couldn’t believe it. Drake, his stalwart beside him, his oldest and truest friend. They had been through so much together, from Liams mothers’ death to Drakes father dying in the line of duty, to the attack on him when he was eighteen, and everything else in recent history. The season before Liam was crowned king. Meeting Victoria. Finding the first cause of true strife between the two men. Liam ran his hand over his head as he remembered the jealousy that had poisoned him when he had learned of Drakes feelings towards her, mirroring his own affections. The panic that had set in, because as much as Liam loved her, Drake had never hurt her. The fear of losing Victoria to Drake of all people would have been unbearable, and yet that was exactly what he was asking of Drake; to put up with seeing the woman he loved on the arm of his best friend.

The worst part of all was the thought that Liam didn’t deserve Victoria after all.

Time and again he placed in her danger. He couldn’t fault her for being so skittish about marrying him; he wouldn’t have counselled anyone in her position to marry anyone in his. Liam fought back tears as he understood the weight of what he was asking of Victoria and how badly he regretted being the reason she came to Cordonia in the first place.

*

Watch the door. Check on Drake. Pray for the morning. Repeat.

Victoria went through the motions of every step of her basic plan over and over. Every time she got up it was with great difficulty and pain as her muscles kept seizing whenever she held herself under the blanket for too long. The dress was stiff and tangled between her legs when she walked. Drake drifted in and out of sleep and so she let him. He woke every time she checked on him, which soothed any worries about unconsciousness and his colour was much better. He had still lost blood and she couldn’t do anything about that, but all things considered, he had fared relatively well from being shot.

Finally, _finally_ , the sun began to rise outside. Victoria was alerted to this fact but the creeping glow that began under the door and the gaps between the curtains. Each slice of light cut through the darkness in the cabin, bringing up things she hadn’t seen before. A coat stand by the door. A mug tree holding six matching green mugs stood beside the sink. A chair and a footstool were just under a window, adjacent to the sofa. The wall behind her held three watercolour paintings of three different types of tree. These new visions gave her something to focus on instead of how dry her eyes were.

The light chased away the final lingering ghost of her father. Every so often during the night, she had turned and her heart had leapt as she had been convinced that Jimmy had been sat right next to her, or loitering in the bedroom on the other side of Drakes bed. She knew he wasn’t there, rationally she knew that, but to help Drake she had let him into her head once again and she worried what seeds he might have left behind.

As the light grew stronger and Victoria considered standing to open the curtains, held back by how bone-tired she was and the worry that that might somehow give away their position to the attackers of the night before, a noise behind her made her jump. She managed to raise the arm holding the knife and turn, though every muscle protested loudly at the sudden movement. Drake appeared out of the bedroom, holding up his hands — one higher than the other due to his shoulder injury — in a sign of peace. “Relax, Quinn. It’s just me.”

“You should be resting,” Victoria complained, lowering the knife stiffly.

“I’ve rested all night,” Drake said coming around to sit beside her on the sofa. He reached for the hand still clutching the knife and gently slid the weapon out of her fingers to lay it on the coffee table. “You look terrible. Why don’t you go and get some sleep now?”

Victoria shook her head. “Not until I know you’re safe.”

“Victoria,” Drake looked pained. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “We’re in a _safe house._ It’s been hours. Whoever attacked the ball is long gone by now, either in custody or they fled. They aren’t coming here to finish us off.” He moved his hand around her shoulders and tugged. She had no strength to protest and let him pull her to him so that she could rest against his warm bare chest. “You don’t have to be afraid right now.”

“But what about Liam and—” she broke off, a sob welling in her throat. “What if they’ re—?”

“They’re not,” Drake said firmly. “They’re fine.”

Victoria didn’t quite believe him, but she swallowed her immediate terror. After a few minutes, she said: “Drake, I was so cruel to you and you still… you still…”

“Victoria, I will always,” Drake answered, holding her tightly in his good arm. “You’ve got me forever, OK? Whatever I said, just forget it. We’re friends and I care about you too much to let a disagreement come between us.”

Once again Victoria wasn’t sure she believed his words, but she was willing to let them go. She hoped it was true; she didn’t want to lose Drake or anyone she had grown so close to over the past nearly-a-year. If Drake believed Liam had made it out alive, then she would cling to his belief in lieu of her own.

As they were sitting together, Victoria grateful for the extra heat from Drake, he tensed beneath her cheek. “Do you hear that?”

Victoria craned her neck to look up at him. “What?”

“Sounds like an engine.” He carefully extracted himself from her and stood, going to the window beside the door, twitching the curtain enough to carefully peer outside. Victoria found herself reaching for the knife again. Drake watched, his body still and Victoria watched him hearing, at last, the engine of the vehicle as it rumbled towards them down the same track she had flown down hours ago in the dark. “The snow’s stopped,” Drake remarked softly as he watched the car. “Car’s gone around back.”

Victoria nodded, slowly getting to her feet. “Who is it?”

“Couldn’t say,” Drake said, not moving from his position. “Tinted windows.”

She clutched the knife tightly as the sound of doors shutting reached the cabin, followed by the crunch of footsteps over the new snow. Drake leaned further against the window, trying to see whoever it was. Victoria almost forgot to breathe as she watched him. Then he gave a shout of delight and hurried to the door. Victoria remained frozen in place.

Drake fumbled with the lock but soon had the door flung open. A new chill swept inside as some of the snow that had piled up against the door tumbled into the room. Drake was bathed in new daylight, the naked skin of his upper body rising to goose-flesh. His breath misted in front of him as he grinned.

The daylight was suddenly obscured by a new frame, who brought his arms around Drake in a long embrace.

“ _Liam_ ,” Victoria managed, her voice choked with emotion. He looked over Drake’s shoulder and locked eyes with her and Drake let him go to greet the next person at the door, but all Victoria could see was Liam. She dropped the knife and stumbled forward as he rushed to her and then they fell together, clutching each other tightly, sinking to their knees on the floor.

“Victoria, you’re here, you’re alright,” Liam murmured into her hair. Victoria couldn’t form words, her tears finally flowing at the relief of seeing him alive and well. Liam’s hands cupped either side of her face and he drew back, eyes searching her face. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? You’re so cold…”

“Liam, listen to me,” Victoria reached up to touch her icy hands to his. “I get it now. I understand why it matters.”

“What?” He slid his hands out and over hers, holding them together beneath his mouth and dropping hot kisses over her skin, rubbing her hands between his to warm them.

“I was stupid before,” Victoria went on. “I didn’t understand why it was so important, but I do now.”

“Victoria, I can’t believe I put you in harm’s way. Again.” Liam said, his eyes shadowed. “I’m so sorry. I will never forgive myself. As soon as we can go back to the palace I’m buying you a ticket home. It’s too dangerous here and I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt or ki—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the word, his voice breaking.

Victoria felt a warmth inside her at his words, but it was not born out of affection. A coil of anger heated her deep inside her chest and Victoria pulled her hands free to hold his face, forcing him to lock eyes with her. “ _No_.” She said firmly. “Liam, that’s not what I mean. I’m not leaving you here to face God only knows what else alone. That’s what I’m talking about; you have to face horrible things and desperate times, but you don’t have to do it alone. I won’t let you.” Victoria leaned closer resting her forehead against his. “Liam, I love you. I won’t let you do this by yourself.”

“Victoria…?” Liams voice was needling, trying to resist her, but unwilling to let her go.

“Liam Alexander Ferdinand Kennard Rys,” Victoria said steadily, each name equally revered on her tongue. Liam pulled back to watch her, his eyes wide. “I will marry you. I will stand beside you until the end of our lives and face everything you face with you. You won’t ever be alone again because I will be there and woe be-fucking-tide anyone who tries to cross you, because I will _end_ them.”

Liam hesitated. “You should go home.” He refuted weakly. “It’s not safe here.”

“This _is_ my home.” Victoria rebuked him. “If it’s in danger I won’t turn my back on it. On you. Liam, I want to be with you for the rest of my life.” She shifted closer, her stiff skirts rustling, a thread of vulnerability trembling her words. “Will you marry me?”

Liam met her gaze, the intensity and love in her eyes reflected back ten times in his. “Yes. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is Risk It All by the Vamps. 
> 
> I had another plan for the proposal. It was all supposed to be done and dusted by the end of book 2 as per the game but... that's not what happened. This happened instead.


	3. By My Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang are back together and battle plans get forming. 
> 
> (quick heads up: the duchy of Valtoria gets it's first mention and because I can't possibly put Victoria in Valtoria, I fell back on the name I used when you could customise it in game and because I'm a Critter that was Whitestone. So even though it's obvious I'm sure, when you see Whitestone mentioned that would be Valtoria.)

_It's a fight we've all chosen_

It turned out that the generator was down, but the brothers Beaumont were able to restore power after braving a trip outside and around the side of the house. Hana couldn’t bear to leave Drake unchecked and so went over Victoria's work on his injury and, finding nothing left to do for him, spent her energy on tidying up the detritus of Victoria's first aid instead. When Maxwell returned to the house, now lit up thanks to the power, he and Hana busied themselves with making tea, while Bertrand kept Drake company. The older Beaumont shrugged off his jacket to slip over Drake's shoulders.

Victoria saw none of this.

After the proposal had been struck and accepted, Liam had swept her into his arms and she had closed her eyes just for a moment in relief that he was safe. The next thing she knew she was being set down on something soft; her heart leapt into her throat and she lashed out wildly with her hands, fingers hooked to drag nails through any exposed skin she could reach. Her rational mind was locked down tight behind memories of the gun aimed right at her, of fire raining down on her as she frantically fought her way out of the nightmare that had been her young life. Someone above her hissed and clamped hands over hers, the blur on her sight clearing and Liams face swam into view.

“Victoria, hey, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

There was a red line dug down his neck, but he was looking at her with nothing but love and concern. She scrambled up off the bed and flung her arms around him, holding him tight.

“God, Liam, I…” It wasn’t the first time she had lashed out without thinking and wounded him in some way, though at that moment she hadn’t even seen him. She had been fighting off some shadowy assailant. Somehow that didn’t make her feel any better.

Liam was holding her fiercely, his hands pressed unwaveringly against her back, her face tucked into the hollow of his throat where there still lingered the fresh spice of his citrus aftershave. It was buried beneath the scents of sweat and fear, but it was there. It was Liam. She squeezed her eyes shut as if that would ward off the ghosts and the guilt, then pulled back. “Liam, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t.” He argued softly. “You were out like a light and I thought you must have been exhausted, so I thought this would be best.” Liam’s lower lip trembled as he spoke and he clamped his mouth shut, averting his eyes from hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

She touched her fingers to his cheek and pressed, turning him back to her. He looked worn down, a candle burned almost to the end of its wick. Words failed— what could she say to soothe his woes after the attack on the palace? She leaned up and met him halfway in a searing kiss that she felt down to her toes. She could sense him move, but the kiss never broke. When they pulled back, foreheads touching as they caught their breath, she realised he had sat beside her on the bed and pulled her feet back to make room. The ballgown tangled up in her legs and she cursed softly, finally breaking contact with Liam to grab the silks and yank. Liam looked down and touched the golden fabric.

“Your dress.” He said simply, a mournful edge to his voice. “I shouldn’t be sorry about a garment, not when you are alive, but…”

“I know,” Victoria said, scooting closer. “I’m sad about it, too, but you’re right. I’m alive and so are you. So are our friends. That’s what we should focus on. Is… was anyone else hurt? Was anyone killed?”

Liam shook his head and she almost blacked out with relief. “No, no fatalities thank God. Hurt, yes. Bastien for one.”

Bastien. Without him she would never have gotten Drake clear of the ballroom, he would have been shot by the second bullet and so would she. His daring leap to catch the first one and save her would have been for nought if Bastien hadn’t shown up right at that moment to disarm the terrorist. She shivered at the thought. “Will he be OK?” He had gotten them to the car and then turned back to jump back into the fray to protect his king.

“His leg was wounded pretty badly,” Liam said flatly. His eyes kept stealing up to hers then dropping away again. It was as if he couldn’t bear to hold her gaze for any length now that they both knew the other was safe. “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Victoria ducked down to try and catch his gaze without moving his head again. “Look at me. We’re OK.”

In his effort to avoid her eyes he alighted instead on her arm and what little colour remained in his face drained at once. “What’s this?”

She twisted her arm and peered down at the smeared blood across her skin. “Oh. Just a flesh wound. I think it was the bullet.”

“What happened?” Liam asked hesitantly. There was a scattering of unopened supplies that Victoria hadn’t needed to use on Drake on the bedside table and Liam reached for a small square package, tearing open the serrated edge and pulling out a wet swab. His hands were steady as he applied the disinfectant wipe to her wound and Victoria flinched at the cold bite of pain, feeling a small thrum of sympathy for Drake and what she had put him through with her rough first aid treatment. “How did you both get injured?”

Victoria kept her arm as still as possible as he cleaned the wound. It looked far more grisly than it was serious and beyond the clean up that Liam was performing she didn’t think she would need anything else. It was good to have something to focus on as she spoke to prevent her from mentally slipping back into the ballroom and panicking again. The sting grounded her. “Drake and I had been talking outside so we weren’t there for the beginning of the attack, but when we heard shots we had to go help and we were trying to see what they needed from us. Justin and Kiara were hurt. I guess one of the attackers saw us or was still close by after hurting Kiara and… Liam, Drake saved my life.” The explanation unravelled. Liam’s hand clenched around the wipe. “I froze. I was so stupid, I saw the gun and I just froze. Then Drake was there.” She drew a shaky breath. “He took that bullet instead of me. I…”

Liam dropped the wipe on the bedside table and hesitantly took her hand. “I should have been with you.”

“Don’t say that.” Victoria countered. “I’m glad you were able to get out unscathed.”

Liam’s eyes were hooded when she met his gaze and the regret in his usually placid face shot ice through her veins and she trembled. The house was still chilled and she seemed to remember just how cold she was outside of Liam’s embrace, her skin tightening under the now familiar sense of gooseflesh. A knock at the door made them both jump, then Maxwell appeared around the door.

“Sorry,” he began, warily. “I didn’t want to wake you or interrupt anything.”

Maxwell’s tone was flat. He didn’t sound sorry. He didn’t sound like anything at all. Victoria’s heart bruised to hear it and with a sudden start, she realised he was probably worried about Justin. She had last seen the man in a pool of blood and although he had been conscious and lucid, she didn’t think painting that picture for Maxwell would help.

“It’s fine, Maxwell,” Liam said, taking on the kingly persona with the ease of slipping on a fresh shirt. “What do you need?”

“The generator is up again and the powers back. We’ve got tea steeping on the counter for anyone who wants it?”

“Loaded with sugar, like the British in the war?” Victoria managed with a weak smile. Maxwell met her eyes and returned the same ghostly imitation of humour as they recalled the last time Maxwell had made her a sweet tea.

“You bet.”

“Victoria needs to get changed first and then we’ll be right out,” Liam said. Victoria didn’t notice at first that he’d answered for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind and regardless she was thrown by his certainty of fresh clothes.

“Into what?” She asked as Maxwell nodded and left them to it.

Liam stood and crossed to a chest of drawers under the window. “I take it you didn’t get a chance to rifle through the belongings here if the lights were out,” he explained. “But there are supplies here if you know where to look.”

Victoria stood on stiff legs. “Do you suppose there’s any hot water?”

“I daresay the immersion heater is getting onto that as we speak,” Liam said. “It probably seems to be about-face, but I suggest changing out of your gown into something warm and taking on Maxwells British tea first. Should give the water time to heat and should fortify you for a shower. How does that sound?”

Once again he picked out what she ought to be doing and Victoria almost wept with relief. She had been singularly responsible for Drake’s safety for the last however many hours and she was so damn grateful that someone else was calling the shots for her now. Not just anyone, her fiance. She shook her hand as Liam came over with some corduroys, a polo shirt and a thick jumper, trying to force some flexibility back to her body and her eyes stole to the ring finger. They didn’t need a ring to be engaged, but that was something they would need to fix for the public. Liam caught her looking at her hand.

“Victoria, I’m sorry to ask, but are you sur—?”

Victoria fixed him with a look that killed the question. “I’m sure.”

She reached for the zip on her gown, struggling to bend her arms the right way, but Liam gently pulled her to her feet and spun her in his arms, ushering the zip down from the neckline to her lower back. The cold air whispered over her exposed skin as the dress slowly came away, more like cardboard than silk thanks to the dried blood, sweat and snow. Then Liam’s breath was at the back of her neck, warming her better than anything. She leaned back into him and he caught her, wrapping his arms around her. “I love you,” he murmured into her ear.

“I love you, too.” She stepped out of the ruined dress, kicking it aside safely balanced in Liam’s embrace. “I’m going to keep you safe.”

*

Hana wouldn’t stop fussing over him. It was driving him to distraction. Drake hadn’t minded it so much when it was Victoria patching him up, but that had more to do with the fact that his wound had needed care and attention then. Now it was sorted, but Hana was finding reasons to badger him about his pain or being cold or needed a drink. He wanted to scream.

Bertrand was no better. He was watching Drake with something like respect in his eyes, respect for chucking himself over Victoria when the shooter fired. Victoria mattered to Bertrand, too, and now Drake had made himself worthwhile.

The two men weren’t in a good place since the truth had come out about Savannah’s reasons for leaving Cordonia and Drake hadn’t seen the man since the night of the homecoming ball where Tariqs statement had leaked. He hadn’t even known Bertrand was at the palace for New Years, though he supposed that had a lot to do with the fact that Drake had been on high alert to avoid Victoria and wouldn’t have even seen Bertrand if he’d been standing in front of him offering him his body weight in whiskey. God, he wanted a stiff drink. It was medicinal, after all, to down a whiskey for the pain. His shoulder was little more than a dull ache, but he had plenty more hurt to get through.

He’d asked and she’d delivered. He couldn’t be angry about it. _Kill the possibility of us_ , he had brazenly challenged, knowing deep down that he had really wanted her to smile and kiss him and tell him that Liam was history. Well. Now they were engaged. That was that.

Drake slumped further into the sofa, shrugging off Hana with a grunt, but refusing to snap at her when he knew she meant well. He was ready to get back to the palace and find his sister.

Maxwell poured a round of tea, determined to keep busy and he managed a small chirp of delight when Liam and Victoria returned to the room. Drake craned his head to watch them walk, wondering if they would have some tell now that gave away their new relationship status.

Victoria had changed out of her ruined dress. Clothed in men’s trousers and a jumper that swamped her with her hair scraped off her head and secured with a hair tie she was a million miles away from the duchess at the ball. She looked small in a way he had never seen her look, dwarfed by her clothes and her walk a step behind Liam. But when she sat down and Drake could see her face, her eyes were like blue chips of flint. She was clearly beyond exhausted, but she looked like she could go another ten rounds with whoever had tried to hurt the nobles at the ball. She looked ferocious.

Liam sat down next to Drake between him and his betrothed, turning to him with humility across his face. “Drake, Victoria told me what you did. How you saved her life. I will never, ever forget that.”

Drake coloured, bile rising in his throat as he baulked away from the gratitude in Liam’s voice. “You both have to let that go. It’s really nothing— I didn’t think about it so I can’t take credit for it. I just moved. It’s no big deal.”

“It is.” Liam pressed, not letting him off so lightly. “We both owe you so much. I owe you everything.”

Drake looked down, working the retort he wanted to give back with a swallow. His eyes were sharp like he had just taken a faceful of blizzard. “It’s fine.” He whispered. Then he cleared his throat quickly, trying to resume his normal laconic drawl with a shrug of his good shoulder. “Seriously. I did it for Cordonia. For my future queen.” He even managed a grin there. He felt stupidly proud of himself.

Liam clapped his hand onto Drake’s leg, but mercifully let him off the hook, turning to the others, lacing his other hand with Victorias. “Let’s take a moment or two to drink Maxwell’s tea, then we can head back home.”

“What’s our next move?” Victoria asked, declining the tea with a quick wave as Maxwell passed the cups around. “When we get to the palace?”

Liam had let Drake go but was unwilling to release her. Drake took his cup and held it in his lap, focusing on the warmth of the brew. “Our first priority will be reassessing injuries and well being. Not just you and Drake, but everyone else at the palace.”

“We need to make sure no-one took a turn for the worse,” Hana added. “I hope the staff weren’t caught in the crossfire.”

Liam frowned, a shadow darkening his features. “Initial intel from the scene suggests that the nobility were the targets. No staff were directly targeted.”

“Good,” Victoria said. “They don’t deserve that.”

Bertrand’s heavy brows quirked. “I’m not sure anyone deserves to be targeted by shooters.”

“Of course not,” Victoria agreed hastily. “I just mean that we were there to enjoy a ball; they were working. They don’t have the means to pay for medical bills like the rich do and they didn’t exactly sign up to work in the service industry only to be shot by some cowards trying to kill their employers.”

Liam turned towards her, his tone gentle. “We have a national health service, sweetheart.” His hand crept up to her cheek, to try to smooth away the creases of consternation she wore. “No-one will have any bills to pay, but regardless I’m with you on that point and I will be compensating everyone who was working last night and granting leave where I can.”

“Is that enough?” Victoria asked, unconvinced. “How can we prove that they’ll be safe next time?”

“We can’t,” Maxwell said softly into his cup.

“Those who wish to leave the employ of the king are welcome to do so,” Bertrand spoke over his brother. “At any rate, many of the staff last night were part of the events company, not regular palace staff, so it won’t be an issue for them.”

“Bertrand—” Victoria began, but this time Maxwell spoke louder.

“What about Justin?” He asked, his normally cheerful demeanour soured for the first time that Drake had seen. “He was only there last night because of us. Because we hired him to help and he got hurt.”

Bertrand turned to him with a hangdog expression, the corners of his mouth drawn down. “Of course… I will release him from his obligations. After all, Victoria and Liam are… well, he’s no longer needed.”

Maxwell blanched. “ _I_ need him.”

Victoria scooted forward on the sofa, out of Liam’s grasp, though he reached for her even so, pressing his hand to her back. “Maxwell, I’m so sorry that Justin got hurt. He warned me about the shooter who was after me, so Bertrand, you ought to give him a raise, not a dismissal. Unless he wants to leave, but even if he does I’m sure he’ll want to stay with you, Maxwell.”

Drake watched the pair talk over the coffee table with a growing sense of realisation. Bertrand seemed to put the same pieces together as he had and his brows raised. “I see. Maxwell, when we are back home we will be sure to check up on Justin, alright? We can let him tell us what he wants to do.”

Maxwell nodded and retreated into his cup again, lost in thought. Bertrand didn’t seem to know what to do about him now. It was most unlike Maxwell to be so withdrawn, but then again, Drake reasoned, they were all changed now.

Hana sat up straight in her seat. “Were any of the attackers apprehended at the scene, Liam?”

“I’m afraid not.” Liam shook his head. “They used the chaos to their advantage and by the time Bastien’s team realised they were no longer attacking they were gone.”

“Who were they?” Victoria asked. “Do we have any idea?”

“None yet. I wish I could say we don’t have any enemies, but we have enough that it’s not yet clear who was shooting last night.” Liam’s shoulders slumped with the thought. “But we’ve not had such a large scale attack since World War Two. In my lifetime it’s been smaller forces targeting specific members of the royal family. Nothing this big.”

“Victoria is right, though,” Drake said, pushing himself off the arm of the sofa to sit up taller. It took longer than anticipated, his wound flaring in angry protest and the sofa was just a shade too soft to get proper purchase on, but eventually, he made it only to look up and see everyone staring. “What? Give me a break, I did get shot.”

“Who’s right?” Maxwell asked, a glimmer of his old spark visible in the crooked upturn of his mouth.

Drake frowned. “Quinn.” He glanced over at her to see that she was the only one not looking at him. She was fixated on her hands that were clasped before her. In profile, she looked even paler than he had thought.

“You called her Victoria,” Maxwell said, just lightly enough to show that he was extracting a deeper meaning from the use of her name.

Drake flinched. “It’s her _name_. Fucks’ sake, Maxwell, I’ve barely slept, give me a break.” His throat felt hot with the excuse. He had slept, pretty well all things considered; it was Victoria who hadn’t. Quinn. The point he had wanted to make slipped just out of reach, but in a desperate bid to pull focus away from himself again he latched onto the half baked notion. “The point is that the people of Cordonia aren’t going to breathe a big sigh of relief that no-one was killed in this attack on nobles because commoners were caught in the crossfire. Justin. Me. You can tell them it’s alright that we were hurt because they were after people like Kiara — who was also wounded — and any other nobles who took damage, but they get to go home and hide in their manors, whereas the regular folk have to keep showing up to work. Even when they’re scared.”

The room stilled. Victoria was nodding still focused on her lap. She wouldn’t look up, but he knew she heard him. The brothers were looking down, too, Bertrand at the floor, Maxwell into his cooling, undrunk tea. Hana was making herself as small as possible in her chair, drawing her limbs together even as she sat primly with a straight back and ankles crossed delicately at the ankles. They were all mired in their own trauma, in the same room in the safe house amongst friends, but lost to their own grief. How would any of them ever put one step in front of the next again now that they’d run for their lives?

Liam swept his hand across his chin, rubbing thoughtfully before coming to a rest. Leaning forward, elbow on his knee, jaw cupped in his hand, mouth hidden. His eyes were distant. Drake watched him. Only king for a few months and here came the first large scale attack in over seventy years. It didn’t even matter that he had Victoria on his arm; Drake would never have switched places with him in a million years.

It hit him then. A bolt of lightning to his gut that turned his blood to barbed wire. Drake suppressed the shudder that threatening his stoic exterior. Not now.

“Cordonia needs a distraction,” Drake said slowly. “And the nobles need something to rally behind. Nothing brings a broken family back together like a wedding.”

Victoria’s head spun to meet his gaze. Liam remained lost, but Drake knew him down to his bones. He could see the moment Liam pulled his shoulders rigid, the flicker of a clench in his jaw under his fingers. Liam had already had that idea. He just hadn't wanted to say it. Didn’t want to manipulate his fiancee of only an hour into a quick wedding, even if it was the one show of strength he could do to fight the unknown assailants.

Drake turned to Maxwell and Hana. “You two had better pool your resources. How many binders of mood boards do you have now between you? Half a dozen?”

Hana pinked, but managed a small smile of pride. “A little over that, yes.”

“She has nine.” Maxwell ratted her out, visibly brightening. “I wanted to split one to get to double digits, but Hana was firm that all the pinks deserved to stay together.”

“I let you break up the purples into pastels and bolds.” Hana retorted lightly.

“Because you can’t use lilac with blackberry,” Maxwell said as if they were in the middle of this old conversation. The more the pair spoke the more animated they became, thawing like flowers after a frost. “But all the pink shades work perfectly together.”

“I never wanted to put lilac with blackberry. But consider this: mauve and boysenberry.”

Maxwell opened his mouth to argue, but then he paused, the idea sparking something in him. “Oh… you might have a point.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bertrand complained and Drake assumed he was protesting his idea of using the wedding for a nationwide morale boost until he added: “They are not having pink _or_ purple at their wedding. It will be the Cordonian colours of blue and silver.”

“What about Victorias colours?” Maxwell asked.

“What are they?” Hana asked, leaning forward towards Maxwell, both looking at Bertrand who seemed flummoxed.

“Well, I… I’m not sure. There are only a small handful of duchies available and I don’t know which is Victorias.”

“Whitestone.” It was the first word Liam had spoken in a while. “I thought Whitestone would be the best fit. It’s… my favourite.” He wasn’t looking at Victoria as he spoke. He wasn’t looking at anyone. The trio opposite them was inspired back into action by the plan, but the happy couple with Drake was still quiet.

“Quinn?” Drake asked over Liams back. “You ok?”

She had slipped her hands into the wide cuffs of the thick jumper so only the tips remained peeking out. Her nails were ragged, chipped gold nail polish flaking off the nails onto her borrowed trousers. She raised her gaze to meet his and once again he was thrown by the readiness for battle he saw there. In the past twenty-four hours, she had worn more faces than he had ever seen her wear in the time he had known her. He wasn’t certain he liked this one. Her eyes were too cold. Too distant. Like looking into the eyes of a stranger.

“Cordonia needs us.” She said. Liam turned away from Drake towards her and she smiled for him. “Whatever it takes.”

Drake watched Liam lift his hand to thumb the pale skin on her face, just beneath her eye as if to wipe away a tear, but she wasn’t crying. “Whatever it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter By My Side is by Andrew Neal. 
> 
> Wow, I really stretched one in-game chapter into 3 fic chapters. Yikes, me. Yikes.


	4. Give The People What They Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the palace, where the gang go into full plan mode.

_Bring on the lions and open the cage._

The press were at the palace. Liam drove one-handed and gripped Victoria’s hand with the other as the estate swung into view, the eyes of the reporters and photographers swivelling towards the car with shouts and flashes. His knuckles went white — it had to hurt, but Victoria didn’t flinch. She had showered which was a small mercy for her, warming her up so that her skin was no longer like ice, though she was still very pale with dark circles under her eyes. He knew he matched her there; he hadn't slept since the events at the ballroom either. Her clothing was the same borrowed items as before. Drake was similarly bedecked in a jumper pulled from the chest of drawers given the state of his ruined shirt. It hid his bandage from view.

He leaned forward now between the two front seats having unclipped his seat belt and spoke over the beeping of the car as it signalled a warning for that unsafe behaviour. “Why are they here?”

It was an uncomfortable backseat. Either side of Drake was Bertrand and Hana, with Maxwell having elected himself to be the person perching in the trunk. The car Victoria had driven wouldn’t start. Supposedly it was bad practise to leave the door wide open and the lights on in a snow storm.

“Liam?” Victoria’s voice was wary. He tugged her hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss over her skin.

“I don’t know why they’re here, but we’ll manage it.” He said after a moment, injecting his tone with as much calm as he could muster. He just wanted to get her inside and to bed— she had to be exhausted. Then the work could begin, once he knew she was taken care of. “Do you want to announce the engagement now?”

Victoria slipped her hand loose and for a long, terrible moment his heart lurched, but she waved her left hand. “No ring. Isn’t that suspicious? The press will want to see it and if we don’t get this announcement right we might as well forget helping Cordonia. They won’t trust us.”

“That’s a point.” Bertrand mused from behind her, but Hana joined Drake in removing her seatbelt to move. In the rearview mirror Liam spied her sliding something off her finger, then she extended her arm to Victoria.

“I don’t mind loaning this if it fits?” Liam glanced down for an instant, but it was too sharp a look to take in the intricacies of the ring. Just a glint of gold and sparkle. Then he was pulling the car around to park it without running anyone over. The press kept their distance, thankfully as he wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t have been so smooth if they had rushed the vehicle. He put the car in park and killed the engine, finally able to see what Hana had given his love.

Victoria was already wearing the piece. It fit a little tight on her left ring finger, small and unobtrusive. A gold ring without a diamond; it was a delicate band winding around her finger, sweeping into two small branches of ivy either side of a white stone with a pearlescent sheen. The ivy leaves were the same gold as the band, but dotted around them were tiny chips of deepest blue. It was unlike any ring Liam had been looking at for Victoria, though in truth for all of his dreams and plans for the moment she slid a ring onto her finger to symbolise their promise to one another, he had never found the right ring. Seeing it now on her hand he knew that the ring didn't matter; all he cared about was their promise to one another. His chest swelled with pride just to see her adjusting the fit of the ring.

“Hana, it’s beautiful,” Victoria said thickly. “Are you sure you don’t mind me borrowing it?”

“Of course not.” Hana smiled. “The large gem is opal and the blue ones are sapphires. I don’t make my own jewellery — I don’t have the skills for goldsmithing — but I commissioned it from my parents’ favourite jeweller in Shanghai.”

“Wait, you designed this?” Victoria asked. Liam chuckled, reaching over for her hand. _Of course, she had._

“I did,” Hana admitted, ever modest. “Sometimes my gowns need a specific piece to tie the look together.” She shrugged. “It’s not a useful talent like putting someone back together after being shot,” she glanced at Drake, “or for that matter, taking a bullet.”

Drake snorted. “Never mind any of that. Thank goodness you have a ring handy. Otherwise, the whole plan falls apart.”

“Yes indeed, well done lady Hana.” Bertrand nodded. “Well then, shall we disembark?”

“Let’s go.” Liam released his fiancee to open the door and hurried around to help her out. Of course, by that time she was already standing with the closed door behind her flashing a killer watt smile for the cameras. Her hands were demurely clasped before her, the ring hidden by the woollen fabric of the jumper. She hardly looked like the same person he had found in the cabin, frantic for news of his state of living. She looked buffeted but not broken. He swallowed around a lump that appeared in his throat, overcome for a moment with pride for her. Then he stepped up and rested his hand on her lower back, confident that between them Drake and Bertrand they would liberate Maxwell from the boot, and together he and Victoria walked forward to face the press.

The cameras flashed as they walked around to the front of the palace were Liam was grateful to see Bastien emerge, but the couple paused on the steps to address the small crowd. A flashbulb went off and Liam caught the sight of red beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he took in the streak of dirty red at the back of Victorias neck smeared up into her hair, which had not been washed and was still pulled back and high. For a moment he was worried about the idea that the cameras might pick up on the blood, a lingering remnant from the night before, but then he decided it might be a good thing after all. Standing here with her, they would see just how tough she was, how together they would be strong for Cordonia. Hopefully.

“Hello to you all,” Liam said cordially, his kingly facade firmly in place. “I must say I’m surprised to see you here, but it’s lovely to see you all well.”

Victoria wrapped her arm around him and the pair stood as one. “I expect you’re not just here to wish us a happy new year.” She quipped sweetly and a smattering of nervous laughter rang out.

“I want to impress upon you all that what happened last night was a terrible event, but nobody was seriously injured in the attack,” Liam said, switching gears. “Cordonia is unfortunately not without enemies; we always endeavour to do right by all of our citizens and the wider world, but there will always be those who take our compassion for weakness, our strive for equality as a personal affront and our freedoms for granted. These enemies are few and far between, but they will also be short-lived. Our best forces are already investigating every lead to bring those responsible to justice.” Liam finished, his voice clear and even despite the twist in his gut. He smiled down at Victoria who was looking up at him, her eyes determined, her mouth a thin line. When he smiled she returned it, picking up on his cue as though they had practised it a million times.

She turned out to the press with another smile, this one a touch coy, a hint of a secret in the corner of her mouth. “Unfortunately they did succeed in spoiling our New Years Eve surprise, but perhaps this way is better with you all here to hear the news. I’m so glad to announce to you all that King Liam asked me to marry him over Christmas.” Well, it wasn’t strictly a lie — he had uttered the words mid-coitus after all, though thankfully no-one needed to know that fact other than the pair of them. Victoria withdrew her hand from the jumper, letting the ring catch the sunlight. Murmurs broke out amongst the reporters. “And I said… well, I said what took you so long?”

She looked back up at him then and he ducked his head, capturing her lips in a delicate kiss. She touched her hand to his chest, no doubt angling the ring for the perfect photo opportunity, as they shared their first public kiss. Her lips trembled against his, but when the kiss ended she was smiling as though everything was perfectly easy and normal. A loose strand of her black waves caught his eye and he reached up to tuck it behind her ear, stroking his fingers lightly over her skin.

Turning back to the press he kept an arm around Victoria. “We will now take some questions, but please keep in mind that we’ve had a long night and we do need to head inside very soon.” Bastien hovered behind them, far enough to be out of the frame of any pictures of the happy couple, but close enough.

Ana de Luca didn’t push herself forward; it was merely assumed by all gathered with her before the palace that of course, she would get to ask a question first. When it came her usually impassive face was pinched, as though she were torn between which question to ask. Liam was glad — he never wanted to make an enemy of the press, no matter what stories they published about him or his beloved, but he was pleased that they were taking his request seriously. If Ana was at war with herself over what to ask, he had to assume that meant she only expected to ask one and the other reporters would follow this stalwart of royal reporting.

“Firstly, allow me to offer my congratulations on your happy news,” Ana said haltingly, picking up speed as she spoke. “I hope the two of you will have a long and happy life together.”

“Thank you,” Liam nodded graciously as Victoria kept up the strength of her beaming smile.

“It’s clear none of us could have predicted such an attack on the palace during the social season,” Ana went on, heading towards her question. “Do you feel adequately prepared to take on the mantle of queen given the political upheaval we have recently witnessed?”

Liam’s hand twitched behind Victoria’s back, stricken by the heaviness of the very first question for his fiancee. He had hoped Ana would stick to something more asinine such as what flowers Victoria fancied for her bridal bouquet, but of course, Ana would choose _that_ moment to veer into hard-hitting journalism. Victoria didn’t flinch.

“You are so right, Ana, that very little during the social season could prepare me for this battle right at the moment that Liam and I choose to join our lives together as husband and wife.” Victoria stood straight, smiling all the while, but her blue eyes were shining with righteousness, locked onto Ana. “However I am not averse to fighting for justice, fighting for what’s right and fighting for the good of Cordonia. I believe that I have already demonstrated that over the past few months and whilst I can never condone the violence that was meted out last night, I relish the opportunity to stand up for Cordonia, knowing that her people and her news outlets stand behind me all the while. My place is beside King Liam, no matter what we have to face. I’m not so naive as to assume that our love alone will withstand the actions of our enemies, but chains need links to strengthen them; I am honoured to add my strength to Liam and to the entire royal family, who have only ever sought to protect Cordonia.”

Liam swallowed. Victoria had never seemed more beautiful nor braver than then, showing that side of her to the public. As a child, he had been taught the value of keeping the press on side and being as congenial as possible even when they intruded on his and his families lives, and so he could never have imagined using this moment to call out the ferocity of the public against oneself while issuing the command to stand and fight in the same breath. It seemed like a rookie mistake. It was masterful.

Ana blinked up at the couple and then nodded quickly. “Well put, duchess Victoria. I would love to set up an interview in due course to discuss this further and to report on wedding plans when convenient.”

“We will be in touch,” Victoria agreed.

Following Anas lead, many of the reporters eased off the questions, some asking for information that was already public — how many were injured in the attack — or questions that could not be commented upon — do you know who was to blame — and some of the greener reporters avoided the attack altogether and sought to ask about the engagement.

One young woman waited until the end to pose her questions, taking a different tack than many of the others. “Duchess Victoria, there was a great amount of speculation once the news of the broken engagement between His Highness and Countess Madeleine was announced. What are your feelings towards Countess Madeleine, Duchess Olivia and the other suitors who were denied their place at the kings’ side? Should Cordonia be concerned about lingering resentments from the other noble houses in light of this attack on you and King Liam?”

Liam felt his face twist up at that before he could catch himself and smooth his features back into neutrality. The woman holding her phone on record mode towards the stage almost lazily, as if she didn’t much care to hear the answer, was the picture of impassive. She looked young, younger than him, but well put together, her crisp suit almost as sharp as Anas trademark fierce style, her hair pulled back into a severe blonde ponytail. She had her eyes on Victoria, but there was an air of insouciance to her entire demeanour. He didn’t recognise her. “Where did you say you were reporting for, please?”

The blonde reported glanced at him, then back to Victoria as she replied. “Myra Fillery from the Cordonian Tribune.”

Victoria reached her arm behind her to lace her fingers with Liam and squeeze. “Ms Fillery, I bear no ill will towards the other suitors. I have learned a lot from them all, particularly from Countess Madeleine, with whom I spoke prior to the statement from Lord Tariq going public. Lady Hana Lee is one of my best friends and I am very fond of Lady Kiara and Lady Penelope. As for Duchess Olivia,” Victoria raised her chin before going on, “I would trust her with my life. She is a loyal friend to Liam and me.”

“I will add,” Liam said, picking up on the thread Victoria was weaving, to dissuade any rumours of the attack coming from the noble houses denied a crown, “that I last saw Duchess Olivia protecting my father and stepmother as she helped to escort them to safety.”

Myra pursed her lips and seemed to consider this answer for a moment before she spoke again. “That is good to hear. Thank you, Your Highness, Duchess Victoria.”

“Very well. Now I think that’s enough questions for today.” Liam said, letting go of Victoria’s hand behind her back and reaching across to turn her. “Please reach out to my press secretary for further information.” And with a decisive nod, he guided Victoria through the palace doors, flanked by Bastien and followed after by their friends.

*

“Hana, thank you so much for the ring, but,” Victoria grimaced as she tugged at the thin band, “I don’t think it’s coming off.”

Hana smiled and reached for her hands, wrapping her slender fingers around them, ceasing Victorias struggle. “I know it wasn’t what either of you planned, but I designed that ring to be seen. I can’t imagine a higher honour than it serving as your engagement ring.”

Victoria smiled weakly and tugged Hana into a hug. Everything was going so fast already.

“The ring has been photographed on your finger now,” Bertrand put in bluntly. “It is probably best that it remain in place unless we can source an identical replacement.”

“Which it wouldn’t be — Hana’s style is too distinct and perf,” Maxwell added helpfully. His brother frowned at him.

“Perf?”

“Perfect.” Maxwell shrugged. “It’s not really time-saving if I have to explain the abbreviation.”

“Just use the correct word, for goodness sake.” Bertrand huffed, wearily. “You aren’t some teenager on Twitter.”

“No shade for the Millenials amongst us please,” Victoria said, pulling half out of the hug with Hana and linking her free arm with Maxwells. Having her favourite people around her with the heavy doors shut to the outside, the Winter sunshine and the press, lightened her soul. She cast her gaze around to Liam who was standing with Drake, lost in thought. “Liam? Are you ok with this ring?”

He looked up surprised. “Sweetheart, I’m happy as long as you are. I can see that you love this ring.”

“I do,” Victoria squeezed Hana a little tighter. “Thank you, Hana.”

Hana smiled graciously. It struck Victoria then that she had taken two things from Liam since that morning; the proposal and the ring. Nevermind that getting married was his dream, she had burst two bubbles for him in one fell swoop. A guilty feeling settled in her belly and she couldn’t help the spiky sensation of selfishness. Too selfish to let him propose on his terms, she had waited until the moment when she could see no other option. When Cordonia needed them.

“What’s next?” She asked, pushing away her turmoil.

Bastien stepped up. “If I may, the King Father has requested a meeting with King Liam.”

“Oh, _shit_ , your dad,” Victoria dropped her friends and clapped both hands over her mouth. “And Regina. And Olivia and Madeleine and…”

“What?” Drake prompted, confused.

“We’ve just announced our engagement,” Victoria started and Liam, already ahead of her, finished her thought.

“To the press. Not to my family, nor our friends.” He said with a sigh. “We can tackle my father now before the news gets out—”

“—unless they’ve already Tweeted.” Maxwell interrupted grimly.

“None of us have our bloody phones.” Bertrand huffed, earning himself raised eyebrows and double-takes. He took in their collective surprise. “What? The infernal devices have their uses and sometimes… sometimes the situation calls for some blue language. My apologies Liam, ladies.”

“What about me?” Drake quipped dryly. “I am very offended.”

Victoria ignored their bantering and turned to Liam. “I need to call Olivia. And Madeleine.”

“Of course.” Liam nodded. “Bastien?”

“Your phones and bags and everything that was in the ballroom have been secured,” Bastien said. “However your father is waiting.”

Victoria made a decision. “Liam, can you head off your dad alone for now? Bastien, I really need to make some calls, so will you take me to get my phone and then I can join Liam and the King Father afterwards.”

“Of course,” Bastien nodded, looking to Liam.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to let you out of my sight,” Liam said with an apologetic air. He looked down after making his admission, but Victoria stepped closer and dotted a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll be fine.” She said. “I’ll be with Bastien and the others.”

Liam swallowed, his eyes dark when he finally matched her gaze. “Alright. I love you.”

“Love you, too.” With another kiss, she turned to follow Bastien.

*

**Olivia, I’m sorry to do this via text, but I can only assume you’re busy training how to take down assassins. Liam and I are engaged. It happened in the safe house--**

Victoria groaned and deleted the text. She couldn’t reveal the truth of the engagement in writing. But if she made up some lie about the proposal having happened at Christmas then Olivia would think she had lied to her at the New Years Eve Ball. The Ball where she had not worn a ring… the easily spun lie outside was turning out to be lined with barbs after all. The press had not been at the ball, but nobles had. Nobles like Olivia and Madeleine, who had plainly seen her bare left hand. Now she had a ring on her finger and a fiance and a lie between them and their closest friends that the proposal had happened over Christmas. Her stomach churned. _Shit_.

She opened her phone again to type out a new message.

**Olivia, I hope you’re OK. I’ve only just got my phone back since the attack and I wanted you to know that Liam and I are officially engaged. I’m sorry to text. I want to explain in person when I can. Be safe.**

That would have to do. She brought up Madeleine’s number, having gotten it from Maxwell, and fired off a similar text. It felt cheap and kind of tacky to send such a message over the phone. Olivia, she hoped, would understand, and while she technically didn’t owe Madeleine anything she had meant what she’d said about never wanting to hurt Madeleine.

The last person she decided to text was Justin. She assumed he was likely still in the hospital, but maybe it would give him some cheer to know that his job was over. He’d guided her through her toughest time at court and gotten her to the arm of the King. Just as the Beaumonts had hoped he would. Whether this news would be a blow to him knowing he might be redundant now was a worry, but maybe this would be good. Maybe now he could be in a proper relationship with Maxwell now that Maxwells family wasn’t paying his wages.

Her phone was plugged into the wall charging slowly after it had run out of battery sometime in the night and Victoria held it, sitting by the wall socket on the floor. She had been honest with Liam about going with the others, but she had needed a moment and a charger, so she was back in her room in the palace. It was untouched, still the way she had left it the night before. Her second choice of shoes stood by the wardrobe, one upright, one on its side. The wardrobe was cracked open a shade, with silk and tulle poking out like a butterfly caught in a spiderweb. Victoria leaned back against the wall, her bed between her and the door and brought up her hand to look at the ring.

It really was beautiful. She had never stopped to dream about what her engagement ring would look like, what Liam would have picked out for her. She had seen the ring Madeleine had worn and she remembered how he had dropped it into his bedside table when the truth came out about Tariq. How he had promised he would not ask her until she was ready. And now he hadn’t gotten to ask her at all. She touched the gems on the leaves of the ring, given them an experimental push, but the ring was stuck tight. Her chest pulled at the thought. This was really happening.

Victoria closed her eyes, resting her head back against the wall and tried to put herself in the shoes of the girl who had travelled to a distant land in pursuit of a man she barely knew who had made her feel warm and safe and happy for the first time in… ever. That smiling, naive girl who had chased a dream. She had come a long way since the masquerade ball. In her mind’s eye, she watched Liam realise who she was under her mask and how he radiated delight. Their first tryst in the hedge maze. Every moment they had stolen. She loved him. She wanted him. She would be proud to be his wife.

Victoria opened her eyes and shoved herself to her feet. Her phone had charged quickly, though it still had a ways to go. No-one had replied as yet. She still needed to wash her hair, ideally before she presented herself as Liam’s fiancee to his father, but then a perverse glee sparked in her belly. Better to show herself to Constantine this way, after surviving an attack, to protest any doubts he might have. This was what he had been afraid of, that Liam would face untold danger when he became king. Well, he had been half right; Liam had technically been single in the eyes of the country and court at the time of the attack. Now he was part of a royal couple and this queen-to-be would greet the King Father with blood in her hair, wearing her beat-up Vans on her feet.

At the last moment, she grabbed her half-charged phone. Just in case.

*

“We don’t have anything to go on and there’s still the possibility that this is someone new.”

Victoria hesitated on the threshold of the council room at those words. Liam and Constantine were mid-talk and she couldn’t help but feel like she would be intruding. Liam asked Bastien a question and the older man replied in his usual low timbre. Victoria reached up to knock on the door when she felt her phone vibrate. Glad of the distraction, she pulled up the text message.

**Clever move. I suppose you aren’t entirely hopeless. Don’t text me again.**

She read the message from Madeleine twice as if she could infer more meaning from the twelve words with a second reading, but then another message popped up to pull her focus from Madeleine to Olivia.

**I know. Obviously, I have news alerts set up for you and Liam. But thanks. I appreciate that you thought of me. Congrats.**

A third and final message flashed as she was drawing a sudden, sharp intake of breath at Olivia’s words. The relief she felt at seeing kindness from the duchess of Nevrakis, albeit clipped, was strong enough to buckle her knees, so she had to lean against the wall. Tiredness and stress were dragging her down, but Olivia didn’t hate her. That meant everything. The next message was from her again:

**I’ve got people investigating. We’ll find the bastards and make them pay.**

Victoria nodded. No-one could see her, but the flash fire that ignited in her chest made her grit her teeth and affirm the ferocity with the motion. Olivia was right. And Victoria didn’t need to be skulking outside the council room. She belonged in there, at Liam’s side. That was what she had declared and she would not be cowed by the presence of the King Father.

She could feel Jimmy at her shoulder then, so suddenly and so forcefully that she was half afraid to turn, convinced he was there. The bourbon on his breath, the sweat of motorcycle grease and faded leathers.

“Go away,” she murmured softly, but still out loud, then cringed at her own folly. He wasn’t there. Even knowing that to be true, she could have sworn she felt his hand on her shoulder. His words sank into her ear like she was sixteen again, just like she had felt in the safe house when she had let him into her mind to help save Drake. _Just like I taught you._

Victoria shivered, but she stepped forward, pushing the door open without warning to those inside. The three men were the only inhabitants and they all turned to her intrusion right away. Constantine’s pursed lips were the only indication he gave to his displeasure at seeing her. It was a marvellous poker face, honed over decades of being king. She could appreciate it while still reflecting her own distaste that they had to share a room for the moment.

Liam held his arm to her, crossing the room to meet her halfway and slide her into his embrace as though they hadn’t just seen each other. She leaned against him for a split second, then pushed away to stand on her own two feet.

“Well then,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for the chapter is by The Kinks, because 80s punk rock flavour is what our gang needs right now.
> 
> Happy New Year guys! The craziness in the real world continues and here I am posting chapters to get by. Hope everyone is alright and that this chapter is what the people want. Or... something.


	5. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Festival of the Five Kingdoms is here but the shadow of the attack still looms overheard.

_But he’ll hold me so close at the end of the day_

Victoria was the picture of perfection and she knew it. If anyone asked her how she had obtained her elegantly put together look she would have to tell them that the secret was starting the makeup routine at four in the morning.

Liam had wanted her to straight-up move into his room that night and then stay there forever, but she had declined. She wanted her own room, and it did feel like hers now, the room where all her things were and where she had hoped she would feel safe. Back at the palace, Drake had disappeared to check in on Savannah and Bartie, Bertrand had found something to busy himself with and the remaining four had taken dinner together and then spent the next few hours in the parlour, lights burning against the cold dark night outside. Victoria had laughed too loudly and too hard for most of the night, but the entire group had been leaning into the mild hysteria. Maxwell was on fine form, cracking jokes one after the other as if he might forget how if he stopped. Even Hana had been looser, wilder. Eventually, they had become tired and Victoria hadn’t been able to persuade anyone to stay up. They’d peeled off to their rooms just before midnight, Victoria being delivered to hers by Liam, who had kissed her and held her tightly when it was just the two of them, asking her again to stay with him. She had kissed him back and feigned a yawn and said goodnight.

Inside the room, she had changed into pyjamas and opened her phone. A few names had come up during the meeting between Liam and Constantine and she needed to know more. Her father had told her that the smart man always knows his enemies by type; past enemies, current enemies and potential enemies. Now she knew the names that Constantine had feared all along.

She looked up the Liberation Core, who were purportedly anti-monarchist. There were plenty of news stories in which they popped up, though not in violent circumstances such as they had seen on New Year’s Eve. There were outspoken, eager to discuss their woes and principles to any media outlet that would have them and they had a fair few blog posts that she could find where they spoke about how the monarchy was inherently unfair and the people should be leading themselves.

After that, she Googled the Sons of the Earth, who sounded like some sort of hippy commune with a “no girls allowed” rule that made it particularly hard for her to take them seriously. They didn’t have the same numbers of articles, blogs or even references as the Liberation Core did and seemed a lot newer. The most she could find on them was that they weren’t against having a king, they just didn’t like Constantine.

Victoria hated to admit it, but both parties made salient points. She was marrying into a family who assumed rule because they had always been in charge, not because they were the best people for the job. And Constantine had made some terrible choices as far as she was concerned, and the most daring thing the Sons of the Earth seemed to want was to open Cordonia up to better trade deals. The whole endeavour left her with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She loved Liam and she was glad to be able to look forward to marrying him when this all blew over. She was just shaken from the experience with the assassins and the speed of her engagement. She would not use the former to make her question the latter. She refused.

She spent some more time trying to find any other leads on possible unknown enemies or maybe offshoots from the two they knew of. She refused to even give the time of day to the third suggestion Bastien had given. Reluctant as he had been to say it, she would never forget him adding House Nevrakis to the list. Anger had flared — “you mean Olivia.”— and Liam had been just as quick to shoot down that suggestion. They would not waste any time on suspecting their friend or her noble house. Her parents might have been power-hungry, but Olivia was not and she was House Nevrakis now.

Eventually, sleep claimed her, lying on her phone and notebook much like her first ever night in Cordonia, but unlike then nightmares quickly plagued her sleeping mind. Gunshots, people in dark clothing and bright colours swirling all around faded into different guns, road leathers and her father and mother screaming at each other. She had awoken with a start and realised there was a dark shadow in her room. The bed sunk where the shape sat down and when he turned his head it was Jimmy, smelling of cigarette smoke so strong it made her eyes tear. He said nothing and she didn’t move, but they stared at each other, father and daughter, passing something unspoken between them until Victoria blinked awake at half past three, lying on her side. She rolled over expecting to see the shadow of Jimmy, but of course, there was nobody there. After that, she didn’t sleep again.

Her make up was flawless, every inch of the dark lines under her eyes vanished under foundation and highlighter. She wore Cordonias colours in the form of a blazer over a blouse and pair of tailored trousers. Her hair was washed and dried into a full cloud of black around her, not a speck of blood to be seen and she pulled on a jacket and scarf to better face the chill of January. She was clean and tidy and ready to face the droves of the public who were welcomed onto the cold grounds of the castle for a festival.

It seemed oddly timed for the palace to play host after what had seemed very much like an internal terrorist attack. That the attack had happened so close to the Festival of the Five Kingdoms where, Victoria had learned, the previously independent nations had come together to battle a terrible threat and found strength in unity, felt very poignant. At first, she had been shocked that they were going ahead with the festival, but when she had learned of the reason for it she understood. What better way to announce to the country that Cordonia was strong than to literally come together to celebrate that?

The weather outside was clear but cold, a perfectly crisp January morning. The exterior of the palace was brightly decorated with flags and bunting flapping in the mid-morning breeze. Victoria tugged her scarf closer to her neck. It would be a testament to the patriotism of Cordonias people if they happily turned out to spend hours out in the cold. Then again, she supposed, the citizens from Lythikos would probably scoff at feeling the nip given that the snow at the palace only measured around two inches and the pathways had all been cleared and gritted.

Liam was handsome in his pale blue winter coat. His cheeks were pink as he turned towards her and his blue eyes were sparkling. To look at him it would have been easy to assume that all was well in his kingdom. “Where would you like to begin, sweetheart?”

Victoria gazed around at the courtyard. The fountain was spewing coloured jets of water, as though it were a crystal reacting to light passing through. She found herself staring for a little bit too long until the pieces clicked into place in her brain; not coloured water at all, but coloured lights tricking her into thinking there were streams of green, blue, purple, yellow and red happily passing together without turning a dull brown. She blinked. Crap, she was tired.

She turned to Liam with a beaming smile. “Why don’t you show me your favourite booths?”

Liam opened his elbow and she tucked her gloved hand in the crook. He set his own over the top of hers and in sync, they walked slowly through the grounds.

With the prettily decorated covered booths and the smells of delicious food and drink and the snow on the ground, Victoria was reminded of a Christmas Market she had attended one December when she was living just outside of Denver during her brief stint in Colorado. It had born in her the urge to visit Germany one Christmas to visit an authentic market for real, to experience it without the American patina. She supposed she had half-completed that bucket list entry; she had been in Berlin after all by now.

Liam stopped at a booth and purchased two cups of hot chocolate for the pair. Her hand was warmed by the cup and when she took a sip she was hit by the sweetness of the chocolate and a little nip of something extra — a snap of ginger and the unmistakable heat of rum. Her eyes widened and she glanced at Liam who was smiling. She felt her mouth move to match his even as her groggy brain and empty belly reacted to the surprise addition. “Nothing better to warm us up.” He said.

“Careful,” Victoria teased gently. “You sound like Olivia. Got any Lythikos Nog lying about if I don’t get woken up by this?”

Liam laughed and her chest eased. People were milling about all around them and it was impossible to fully relax, but when he laughed and pure joy radiated out from him it was easier to forget the traumatic New Years Eve Ball. That would be good. The citizens needed that. Victoria tucked her head against his shoulder and sighed happily, giving her best Disney princess impression, all smiles and big doe eyes looking up at her King. The nearest folk to them smiled at the sight, a small gaggle of women actually “aah-ing” at the sight. Bingo.

The pair made three rounds of the courtyard with the official photographers snapping their pictures as they went, sipping their hot chocolates and then they returned the cups to the original booth. The man behind the counter nodded to them both before returning to the line that was snaking out from his booth. Victoria felt a quick thrill to see it. How their actions, hers and Liams, had directly affected his sales. It was remarkable the amount of simple power they wielded purely by being seen to endorse something as basic as a warm drink on a cold afternoon. Her stomach clenched. That was the reason for the attack, or part of it at least. That they could sway public opinion without even thinking about it. Her smile froze in place, hurting her cheeks as she wrestled with the uncomfortable truth that once again she could understand the feelings of the anti-monarchists.

“Where to next?” she forced herself to ask. Liam looked up and pointed with a grin.

“How about over there?” She followed his gaze to find their friends and she was thrilled to see that Maxwell, Hana and Drake had been joined by Olivia. Victoria’s smile melted into a real one and she hurried towards them, tugging Liam along with her, making him laugh again.

“Olivia,” Victoria greeted the woman with a breath of relief before she dropped Liams elbow and bundled the Nevrakis up into an embrace. Olivia was stiff in her arms, but after a moment she relaxed enough to pat Victoria somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder until Victoria released her.

“Victoria.” Olivia looked mildly rumpled by the display of affection and she smoothed down her hair and dress with practised motions. “That was as unnecessary as it was embarrassing.”

Over her shoulder, Victoria spied some of the citizens peering over at the pair, murmuring to each other, shrugging. Another photographer looked at her camera screen after lowering the device from the pair. It felt very necessary, in fact.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Victoria said. “I thought you had gone back to Lythikos after the ball. I didn’t see you.”

Olivia rolled her eyes but not at Victoria. “My advisors felt I would be better suited to a hotel in the city for a few nights. I told them it was ridiculous, but they had a slight point.” Her green eyes landed on Victorias, then darted away. “I thought it was perhaps best to allow the happy couple some time alone before the festival. But that’s done, you’ve had your honeymoon or whatever and now it’s time to get to work. I’m back now.”

Victoria’s heart ached for her and the admission of her heartache, roundabout as it was. She glanced at the others and met Drakes eye, but his gaze averted in a quick snap when she landed on his face. The discomfort swelled. She was making friends and breaking hearts all over town, but she was in public. She needed to show the unity between her and Liam. She reached for his hand and gripped it tight, hating that she felt like she was betraying the loyalty and friendship of Drake and Olivia to do so.

Maxwell laughed. “Honeymoons traditionally come after the wedding Olivia,” he joked. “They’ve only gotten engaged so far.”

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Olivia,” Hana said reaching her hand to touch the others woman’s arm. The gentle affection stilled Olivia before she could bite back at Maxwell’s teasing. Drake shifted where he stood with his hands deep in his pockets and his shoulders up by his ears.

“Can we go shoot something?” He asked. “I feel like shooting something.”

“Shooting?” Victoria asked. Drake nodded towards a direction behind her somewhere behind her, but as he refused to open his limbs up to the cold she turned not seeing exactly where he meant. Olivia came up alongside her.

“Ah, archery. Wonderful.”

To her surprised Hana stepped up as well. “Care to make it interesting, Olivia? Victoria?”

There was a steely note in Hanas eyes that Victoria grinned at, feeling genuinely eased for the first time that day. “You sure you know what you’re asking here, Hana?”

“Quite,” Olivia snorted. “I was shooting targets before I started school.”

“Oh really?” Hana asked sweetly. “I was four when I hit my first bullseye.”

Victoria laughed and dropped Liams hand to gesture towards the archery stand. “Well come on then ladies, let’s see who’s fighting talk matches their actual fightin’.”

The trio marched off with the men following behind. Victoria heard Maxwell mutter: “Guys, I’m a little afraid. Should we be afraid?”

*

“I want a do-over!” Maxwell exclaimed a short while later. His shot had gone wide after being made to laugh by Hana, flying away from his target and into Drakes. Drake frowned. His arrow had been shoved off course by the sudden appearance of Maxwells.

“Yeah, I agree.” He said. “Do-over.” His shoulder protested at the pressure of holding the bow and it was annoying to say the least that his shot had been scuppered.

“No do-overs.” Olivia insisted. “It was your idea to challenge us.”

“I want to point out that I said that we had no chance against the three women before us.” Liam said mildly. Drake threw him a withering look.

“Traitor.”

“No, just well aware of what they’re capable of.” Liam argued mildly. He slipped his arm around the shoulders of his fiancee. They were like magnets now that they were free to touch each other in public, with Liam seemingly only letting go of Victoria when he absolutely had to then hurrying back to her side. It was cute and romantic, and it hurt like hell, but Drake had to admit he understood it. The only trouble was that understanding didn’t make him like it any more and he could see Olivia stealing glances at the pair as well, the two of them comrades in misery.

It was one thing to know and accept that the two were deeply in love, but Victoria and Liam had never really had the chance to be couple-y in front of them. Their public courtship during the social season had been chaste enough and then throughout his engagement to Madeleine the pair had been unable to do more than gaze longingly at one another across crowded rooms. Now they were free to be together and plan their wedding and be as joined at the hip as they had always wanted to be. He understood it. He hated it.

“We all know what they’re capable of.” Drake countered gruffly. “I just thought we might have a chance if you two could concentrate for more than two seconds.”

Liam smiled. “Not a chance with Victoria here.”

Ouch. Drake held back an eye roll as Liam beamed down at Victoria. Liam didn’t mean it to be cruel, of that much he was certain, but his declarations of love were an arrow to the heart. Drake caught Olivia’s expression as she held back her own eye roll and the pair shared an uncomfortable understanding. Of all the people to be in the same boat with he would have bet everything, he owned that he would never share anything with Olivia Nevrakis.

“Round two?” Olivia asked. “One last shot each?”

The arrows had been collected from the targets shaped like monsters, symbolising the fantastical enemies the Five Kingdoms had vanquished together with the power of friendship. Drake didn’t mean to be flippant— he usually loved this festival.

“Ladies first,” Liam gestured, releasing Victoria so that she could ready her bow.

Olivia went first, competing with not only the men but with her fellow women to strike the most points. The targets were scored based on where they were felled. The most points came from hitting them right in the eye (one hundred points), then the heart (seventy-five points), then the flank (fifty points). Any hits that struck outside of the three main targets were only worth twenty points. Olivia was a formidable talent, but overextending her string sent her arrow a few centimetres south of the coveted bull’s eye. She cursed under her breath, missing out on her glorious shot.

Maxwell sucked a breath through his teeth, but he was teasing her when he said: “Ooh, altogether that’s a measly one hundred and twenty points to Olivia. Pitiful really.”

“Yes, it really is anyone game now,” Drake added sarcastically. “Think you can challenge her with your zero points?”

Maxwell looked scandalised. “How dare you? I hit a target for twenty!”

“You hit _my_ target.” Drake pointed out. “That’s no points.”

“It’s twenty of _your_ points.” Maxwell countered with a cheeky grin.

“Gentlemen, please,” Hana said mildly, pulling back her bow arm. “Let me concentrate.” The arrow whistled through the air and landed dead centre in the heart. Liam whistled.

“Nice work Hana.” He said. “Two hearts in a row.”

Hana smiled sweetly at Olivia. “That’s one hundred and fifty to me.”

Oliva narrowed her eyes but she was smiling. “Excellent work Hana. I’m always glad to be on your team.”

“Why are you nice to Hana, but scathing to me?” Maxwell asked with a slight whine to his voice. Olivia hiked one brow.

“The fact that you have to ask should be your answer, Zero Points.”

Drake barked out a laugh at Maxwell’s gaping mouth. Olivia threw him a quizzical look, though there was a touch of pink on her cheeks upon hearing his approval of her put down. It was a very strange day indeed.

Liam shushed them all to draw the attention back to Victoria, who stepped up to her target with a focused gaze. Drake glanced at her face and that killed his mirth dead. Her eyes were as empty as she had seen, devoid of anything kind or sweet or anything that made her Victoria Quinn. They were cold, hard, utterly consumed with focus on her target. She drew her bow and took a breath.

A sudden bang and then a sharp, high scream had them all ducking instinctively; Drake whirled to see a balloon seller flinching as a small child protested loudly about their popped balloon. His heart was racing even as his eyes took in the mundane scene. His shoulder twinged. But they were fine. They were safe. It wasn’t a gunshot. Just a balloon.

They straightened up self consciously, sharing grim smiles. Hana and Maxwell had grasped hands in the fearful moment. Drake recalled how they said they’d gotten out of the ballroom together. Olivia rolled her shoulders, clearly cross with herself that she had even flinched. She palmed something that she slipped back into the pocket of her coat before he could see what it was, but he had a good idea. Liam was looking at Victoria and Drake followed his gaze.

She was turning back from the target. She hadn’t even moved when the bang or the scream had sounded and her arrow was shot right through the monsters eye. Her stance was tall and proud and someone snapped a photo of her facing them with shoulders squared, jaw set and the bow in one hand. The flash seemed to wake her up and she looked past them to the person with the camera, narrowing her eyes. Drake stepped to the right blocking her view of them. His mind was suddenly filled with the image of Victoria’s hands around the throat of the woman who had taken the shots of her and Tariq. A cold finger of fear dug into his skull.

Victoria met his eyes. They were cold, but she blinked and there she was again all warmth and smiles. She slowly dropped into a mock bow to her competitors and grinned, sharp white teeth against the snow. “Anyone want to forfeit now? None of you can beat my two hundred point score after all.”

A ripple of laughter began and Drake couldn’t have said who started it, but soon they were all laughing. Liam kissed Victoria’s forehead with pride. Drake laughed, but his guts were ice. Victoria wasn’t OK. Of that he was certain.

*

“Duchess Victoria.”

Liam turned towards the sound of his stepmother as Victoria stopped. Regina stepped up and reached over to take Victoria’s hand, turning it to see the glint on her finger. Liam’s brow quirked at this outward display of affection. It wasn’t exactly courtly protocol to grasp hands in public, but he couldn’t deny the swell of pride he felt as Regina beamed at her. Regina had never tried to be a replacement for his mother, of which he was incredibly grateful, but she had been a very kind stepmother and he was glad to see that she was showing approval for his bride. Especially as he had broken things off with her kin to marry Victoria.

“I wanted to extend my personal congratulations,” Regina enthused. “My, what a beautiful ring. I don’t recognise it, Liam?”

His stomach swooped. “No. I mean, yes, I didn’t make use of the vault. I wanted to … that is we…” It struck him suddenly that there were holes in their finely woven story, such as the fact that he hadn’t formally expressed his intention to propose and hadn’t been granted the use of one of the age-old rings that Cordonian brides had worn for centuries. It smacked of haste. The photographers milling about snapped a few shots of the Queen Mother and the future queen as Liam floundered. “I wanted to buy Victoria a ring of our own.”

It felt like a lie. It _was_ a lie. He could feel his cheeks heat.

Victoria laid her hand over the top of Reginas and flashed her a wide smile. “Liam wanted something that was just ours. It was so romantic. He told me that he didn’t want to give me a ring that anyone else had worn and he wanted something unique, so he commissioned a ring from our dear friend Lady Hana. Have you seen her dresses? She designs them herself — she is incredibly talented.”

“She really is,” Regina agreed. “It’s a lovely piece and so special for the pair of you.”

“I’m really glad you think so,” Victoria went on, fixing her gaze on the older woman. “Liam and I so value your support.”

Liam watched Regina smile as if Victoria had not spoken something so laden in a second meaning, but she was a shrewd woman, his stepmother, and she nodded understanding.

“I’m very happy for you both,” Regina said. “I believe your union will be very successful indeed and I couldn’t be prouder of you both for finding each other.”

Liam cleared his throat. It was all at once tight and close and his eyes prickled with heat. His father might have conspired against them but Regina had been no part of it. He would never expect her to outright speak against her beloved husband, but to hear her throw her weight behind their coupling meant the world.

Victoria smiled again, a warm smile that made her eyes sparkle. His father had betrayed them both, but it was she who had been attacked, she who bore the scars from that conspiracy. Liam had walked away relatively unscathed in comparison and he was relieved that in Regina she might find a confidant. A comrade in arms who would understand her journey to the throne in a way that even he never could. Regina was the third wife of the previous king; she had come in after the first had fled, the second died and she had been older when she and Constantine had wed. She had weathered the storm of marrying into this life when there were threats and questions and millions of eyes upon the happy couple. Victoria would need that ally.

*

The day crept on and the sun made its way across the sky before it started to angle downwards and cast long shadows. Lights went on around the grounds, little sparks around the booths. The snow shone like diamonds. Victoria took a moment to breathe.

She stood along with her arms wrapped around herself as she surveyed the grounds. Her feet were numb and it was uncomfortably familiar.

Liam had been at her side for the entire afternoon, ever since she had appeared in the foyer of the palace after taking breakfast in her room. He’d popped up out of nowhere with a kiss and a “good morning” and then they had been together. It was that simple. After months of chaste courtship and then weeks of staying away from each other and now they could just be together.

It was a lot to take in.

She loved him so much. Just looking at his beautiful face gave her so much joy and being able to reach out and touch him whenever she felt like it was a high, unlike anything she had ever known. But having a moment to herself in the middle of the crisp late afternoon was just as important and she’d practically bitten his hand off when he asked her to excuse him for a moment to speak with his secretary. Liam had probably meant that she ought to stay near the others, but Maxwell had been trying to coax Hana and Drake into apple bobbing as the air became chillier and only Olivia had taken him up on that challenge and Victoria had taken the opportunity to slip away. She’d wanted them all around her in the wake of the Ball, but she was glad to be alone for a moment.

She turned her face towards the orange sun and closed her eyes for a long blink. Her bones ached with weariness and she wanted to slide into the hot waters of a steaming bath. Part of her wanted desperately to sleep, but she didn’t dare. Not if her dreams were to be filled with gunfights and ghostly apparitions of her father. The sun caressed her skin and without any chill winds blowing the rays were warm in the midst of the January snow.

A shout roused her. Her eyes snapped open to see a figure in black, a man, barrelling towards her, arms flailing. Her heart clenched in fear, but her face hardened. _Not again._ Victoria moved before she could think better of it and she slammed one arm out ahead of her, crooking her other arm at the elbow and drawing back. The fabric of his loose clothing bunched in her grip as she readied her fist for a punch. The person’s black cloak swirled around his legs and he turned bewildered towards her. In the back of her mind, she registered that he was not dressed like the attackers from the ballroom; he was draped in shiny, black fabric, his face painted like the targets, like the monsters. Dimly she realised he was not a threat. Her elbow locked in place, the punch fizzling out, but her grip didn’t relax. His eyes were wide as he looked to her face, to her fist hovering in the air and then back to her. Everything seemed slower than it should have been like the world had stopped. Victoria exhaled; she hadn’t been breathing. It was as if sense rushed back in when she breathed out, the pieces of her brain clicking back into place. This was just an entertainer, not a threat and she was standing in the open in an attack pose, holding him tight. She let him go, dropping her arms and taking a step back. Her brows furrowed.

“I’m so sorry,” she managed.

“No, I apologise, duchess,” he stammered, his hands running over his clothes to smooth them down and then repeating the motion. “I startled you, Your Grace. I am at fault.”

“No, please, it was me,” Victoria stepped up and reached to straighten his cloak. Over his shoulder, she could see some children gaping at the sight. _Shit_. “I’m just a little jumpy is all.”

“Victoria!”

She turned her head expecting Liam, but it was Drake jogging over, hurrying to her side. He touched his arm and she stepped back again from the performer towards him. “You ok?”

“Just…” her words faltered and she flinched at another camera flash. “I just panicked.”

“I am so very sorry.” The man hurried to add, glancing at Drake. He was older, she saw then; his face was deeply lined beneath the makeup. He was just trying to make children laugh. Another flash lit up the whites of his eyes. Victoria’s stomach twisted.

“It’s fine,” Drake said with a wave of his hand, still clutching Victoria with his other. “Just be on your way.”

Victoria shivered. It wasn’t due to the cold. Drake waited until the man had moved out of earshot and then turned in towards Victoria, lowering his voice. “Quinn, what the hell?”

“I told you,” she said just as softly. Her teeth clacked together. “I just sort of freaked for a moment there.”

“You nearly hit him, didn’t you?” Drake pressed.

Victoria flushed. “No, of course not. Don’t be stupid.” Drake looked unconvinced. She looked away. His hand was on the small of her back and she couldn’t remember when that had happened. Another flash went off. “I’m so over today.” She said with a wry smile, infusing her words with jokey humour even as they trembled over her lips. “Are we nearly done do you think?”

“Victoria!”

This time it was Liam heading for her. He was smiling, but there was a crease of concern between his eyes that split Victoria and Drake apart, with him dropping his arm and stepping away, allowing Liam to slide his hand around her waist. His fingers tightened on the curve he found and Victoria let herself melt against him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine,” she answered brightly, still dutifully avoiding Drakes gaze.

“Quinn almost punched one of the performers.”

Victoria turned, eyes flashing angrily at Drake. Liams expression went from one of glee to see her to one of consternation and his hand seemed to twitch against her. She hurried to explain. “No, it wasn’t that bad. I just… he startled me and I reacted. Drake made it sound worse than it was.”

“It’s alright,” Liam soothed. “I understand. I’m jumpy myself, but I’ve spoken to Bastien already about getting you a personal security detail so—”

“Wait, what?” Victoria pulled back to look up at him with an incredulous frown. “I don’t want a security detail.”

“It’s just a precaution,” Liam said. “Bastien thinks a bodyguard is a wise idea for these times and I have to say I agree. He can't focus on both of us at once and we won't always be together, so your own guard seems wise. Frankly it seems long overdue.”

“I don’t want one,” Victoria said flatly. The stomach clawing dread of the night she had been alone in Geneva, when Liam had started to task his people to find her and how badly that had reminded her of Jimmy’s crew picking her up when she was out trying to have a life. The memory of trying to be a normal teenager until guys wearing the patch of his gang on their jackets appeared and she was spirited back home on the back of a motorbike, her eyes streaming with tears in the wind and the smell of leather in her nose. She didn’t want anyone watching her. Never again. “Liam, please. I’m saying no.”

He looked pained. “Victoria…”

“I’m saying no.” She repeated firmly. Drake sighed.

“Quinn, it might be a good idea.”

She glared at him, angry that he had borne witness to her moment of panic; that he had told Liam and was agreeing with him just made her see red in a darker shade. “I’ll say it one more time: _no_.”

“Alright,” Liam acquiesced softly. “I’ll ask Bastien to stop looking for someone. Please tell me if you change your mind. That’s all I ask.”

The fearful bird in her chest stopped its incessant flapping and she felt her lungs inflate with a deep breath. After a few more calming inhalations she was able to plaster the smile back on her face, just in time for another camera flash. “Thank you. Now then. How are we doing?”

Liam pressed a light kiss to her hair and murmured as he pulled back: “The nobility is missing. People are staying away.” The snap of pictures captured them again.

“They are scared,” Victoria said as she smiled up at him, her lips barely moving. “It’s understandable.”

“It is,” Liam smiled back. “But the people look to us for stability. To me. If I can’t bring the nobles back to the public eye it will look like they don’t have any faith in me.”

“And they’ll worry.” Victoria caught his trail and he nodded. “So what do we do?” Liam’s face was still open and smiling, but his eyes clouded at her question. The moment dragged on and became minutes. Victoria’s heart sank; didn’t he know what to do? Should she? Her mind frantically scrambled for a solution, anything she could think of to help.

Drake cleared his throat. “You need to announce the date,” he said gruffly. His hands were in his pockets once more. “The nobles need something concrete to back and a date would do that.”

“Really?” Victoria glanced from one man to the other. “Would it be that easy?”

“No,” Liam said, his eyes lifting to scan their surroundings, offering a smile and a wave to someone or her shoulder as he talked. “But it would be a start. Combined with a Unity Tour we could convince the nobility to stand with us against the aggressors. I’m sorry sweetheart,” he said, his smile finally slipping as he looked down at her again. “It’s a lot of work and you’ve been doing that all year. I wanted you to be able to relax and enjoy our engagement.”

Victoria’s heart thrummed. She reached her hand around, the left one, and laid her palm against his cheek, the ring sparkling brighter than the snow. Another set of flashes proved that they were still being watched. “I knew what I was signing up for. I want to be busy. I want to be useful. You pick a date and I’ll be there in a dress.” Her chest ached with the thudding inside it, but she was ready. She would make herself be ready.

Liam nodded, blinking rapidly. Victoria caught the glint of tears before he was able to will them away and when they turned to walk to the palace steps where they could address the public and the press, both walked tall and ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter title is by Mikky Ekko. 
> 
> God, it's all so dour! I promise there will be nice bits, too, but these characters have been through a lot and they have a lot more work to do.


	6. Be OK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding date is set.

_I just want to be okay today_

**6 Weeks To Go**

“Thank you both for speaking with me today.”

Something was digging in between Victoria’s shoulderblades where she sat against the high backed chair and she was desperate to scratch at the itch it spawned on her skin. Instead, she sat primly, legs demurely crossed at the ankles and set her hands in the lap of her simple pale pink tea dress. It hadn’t been her choice. The dress was pretty if boring and the shade of the fabric felt a bit ‘sweet sixteen’ for her tastes. There was a lacy underskirt that rustled against her thighs and made her want to keep rearranging the skirt. She focused on Ana de Luca sitting before the pair and smiled.

“It’s our pleasure,” Liam said with a matching smile. He looked so handsome in what passed as loungewear for the king; grey slacks, a shirt and a v-necked burgundy jumper over the top. He had rolled up the sleeves and his hair was still a little damp from the shower, just where it curled at the nape of his neck. Victoria wanted to reach over and finger the dark blonde locks, but she kept her hands where she had put them. Where Bertrand had counselled her to leave them.

“Once again, allow me to offer my warmest congratulations to you both,” Ana said as the recording device whirred quietly on the table between them. “The subject of who would be Cordonias queen has been on every citizen’s mind for the past year. Longer if you ask my readers!” She laughed and Liam chuckled along with her. Victoria didn’t dare try to follow along with them — her mouth was fixed in position and she didn’t trust her dry throat to produce any sort of good noise just yet. “I’m certain nobody could have predicted you, though, Duchess Victoria.”

Was that a slight against her? Or a mere remark made off the cuff? Victoria opened her mouth and shut it again, smiling. Liam seemed to sense her unease. He reached over and placed his hand over hers.

“None of us saw Victoria coming,” Liam said, looking at her even as he spoke to Ana. His eyes were soft as he gazed at Victoria. “If anyone had told me a year ago that I would get to marry such a remarkable woman I would have thought they were just guilty of wishful thinking.” His thumb rubbed back and forth over her knuckles. “I still can’t quite believe my luck. I keep half expecting to wake up one morning and realise I dreamed her up.” His laughter was quiet, but Victoria raised her gaze to his. She could see the draw in the corner of his mouth, that slightly too tight expression and she felt herself melt a little bit. She turned one hand up beneath his palm and slipped her other one on top of his, holding him fast.

“You think you have that problem? A year ago I was working three jobs to make ends meet and now I’m set to marry a king, who if I’m honest, I’d never even heard of.” Victoria’s cheeks relaxed into a genuine smile, beaming at him.

“Just me?” Liam asked, his eyes flashing with mirth. “Or was all of Cordonia a mystery to you?”

Victoria pretended to think about it. “Hmm, well, I’d heard of Leo. The playboy heir made ripples all the way across the pond after all!”

“Wow, I’m almost sorry I asked!” Liam laughed. Victoria shrugged and leaned in towards him, shifting her pose to wrap her hand around his arm and for a moment wished they were on a sofa instead of two chairs.

“No, don’t be silly,” she soothed him. “You were just too sensible to catch the eye of the tabloids in the U.S. That’s really not a bad thing.”

“So you had no idea who King Liam was?” Ana asked, reminding Victoria all at once that it wasn’t just her and Liam in the room. She pulled back from Liam, her eyes landing on the small device on the table. Every word mattered and she had just frittered some on a silly flirtatious game.

“Well, I knew Cordonia had a prince,” Victoria offered up hesitantly. She shrugged one shoulder, starting to slip back into her seat, though Liam grasped her hand in his so that they remained tethered on their separate seats. “Much in the same way I knew that England had a prince. Monarchy is kind of fascinating to some Americans, and over the years I’d absorbed various tidbits of information, though I admit I was always somewhat indifferent to it all.”

“But when you met King Liam you didn’t recognise him?”

Victoria couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as she recalled the night they met. The bar. The whiskey. The club. The Statue. The kiss to ruin all other kisses for her. She laughed softly. “I had no idea. Do you remember?”

Liam’s grin was slanted, charmingly crooked on his usually even features, his eyes shining as they met hers and replayed the same memories. “I remember.”

“And you were his waitress?” Ana asked. She had a notebook on her lap, though she wasn’t adding to the sheets of paper; they were already filled with her neat script. She glanced at her notes to confirm before waiting for the couple to reply. “At a bar?”

Victoria nodded. “Strange as it seems now, yes, that’s right. Liam was visiting New York for the first time and as luck would have it he walked into my bar and sat in my section. That’s where we met for the first time, over an order of burgers and whiskey.”

“Goodness!” Ana trilled a short laugh that sounded more like someone was attempting the sound having only heard it a few times before. A parrot mimicking the behaviour of the humans that fed it.

“Yes, a final hurrah for some friends and me before the social season began,” Liam said. “I never expected to find Victoria.”

“But you know all this,” Victoria stated to Ana. “You did a profile on all the contenders back then.”

“We did indeed,” Ana nodded, shifting in her seat to better face Victoria. “However those were only very basic profiles until King Liam made his choice and then we delved more into the life of Countess Madeleine.” Two small spots of pink emerged on Ana’s cheeks as she alluded to the first fiancee of King Liam, but other than those almost impossible to see blushes it would have been impossible to see that she was even mildly discomforted. “Now that things have changed, we want to learn more about you.”

Victoria swallowed. Liams hand gripped hers. She smiled. “What do you want to know?”

*

She was tense; he could feel it through her grasp. Outwardly Liam ensured he was as neutral as ever, but his gaze kept sliding over to land on Victorias face, in profile as she looked to Ana for her questions. Her jaw was fixed with lines drawn around her eyes. It was normal to be nervous, wasn’t it? They were newly engaged and rushing towards the big day after he had taken her at her word and announced a date only a month and half ahead of them. It would be enough time to visit all of the main duchies and speak with the leaders of each noble House and still be time enough to plan a wedding they could be proud of. That was the reason for giving them six weeks. The exact date had just fallen into his lap when he stood before the press and the public and had the sudden realisation that it would be perfectly doable to marry on February the fourteenth. They could rally Cordonia, vanquish their enemies and she could walk down the aisle towards him on Valentines Day, bringing all of his deepest hopeless romantic dreams to life. It wasn’t until he had seen the pinch on her face when he announced their intentions to the crowd that she might have expected a later date. Or a less loaded day.

It was out now. They couldn’t take it back. But his insides were tying up in knots whenever he thought about her reticence and how enmeshed it was with his enthusiasm.

“There is so little we know about you, Your Grace,” Ana said to begin the interview in earnest. “For starters, where were you born?”

Victoria swallowed. He watched her throat work against the tightness he could read on her skin. “The United States.”

Ana laughed lightly. “That much we know. You were working in New York when you met King Liam, but were you born there? Our readers are eager to know— America is a lot bigger than Cordonia and we know the stock you Americans place on your roots!”

Victoria’s tongue darted over her lips, a quick moment that could have been missed if Liam weren’t watching her so intently. He smiled warmly at her, trying to project an aura of ease and squeezed her hand.

“Actually,” Victoria said in a voice that betrayed her with a slight rasp to her words. “I was born in California.”

“Oh, goodness. You could have perhaps been a starlet in another life!”

“I doubt it. I’m not normally one for getting lots of attention.” She managed to throw a wry smile at Liam. “Until I met you.”

Liam lifted her hand to his lips and brushed them over her knuckles. “You’ve taken to it rather well.”

Victoria looked at him over his kiss. “You’re worth it.”

His heart swelled. It didn’t matter how often he heard her declare her love for him, no matter how indirectly she spoke of it, it would always feel like the sun rising over him. He could see their future laid out like stepping stones, from being engaged, to marriage, to starting a family, ruling together, growing old together, and each moment was wrapped in the warm embrace of her love for him. He kissed her hand again, the thrill of being able to do that in front of people sending electric shocks jolting over his skin. Part of him wanted to stand up and declare to Ana that the interview was over so that he could spirit Victoria away to celebrate their engagement in a most private way that they had yet to do, but he took a breath and pushed that feeling aside. Later.

“So California,” Ana said, breaking them both from their gaze. She jotted a new note down in her book despite the tape. “That’s quite a way from New York, no?”

“Other side of the country.” Victoria nodded. She still didn’t look terribly glad to be in the hot seat, but she seemed mildly steadier now. He squeezed again. If he could help her even a tiny bit then he would. “I travelled a lot when I was younger. I was born in Cali, but I’m from all over.”

“When you were a child? With your parents?” Ana asked. It was a simple question, but Liam could see Victoria’s walls. They didn’t slam down like he would have expected, they were more hesitant than that. He could see it in her eyes; she wanted to shut Ana down completely, but something was at war in those deep blue orbs. She was going to try.

“I, er…that is…” she was trying. Liam’s resolve almost broke. He remained stock-still in his chair. “I don’t really…” Victoria stopped, exhaling for a long moment. When she spoke again it was to the floor. “I don’t really talk about my parents.”

“Oh?” Ana paused, pen hovering over the pages of her book. “Are they not… do they not approve?”

It took Liam a moment to realise what she meant. She had it in her mind that Victoria’s family was alive and well and somewhere abroad looking down on her choices. It was almost absurd enough to provoke laughter. Victoria’s next breath was a shudder of a thing. She couldn’t possibly have taken in enough air to sustain her for the moment and she gulped down a second in a hasty movement. Liam held her hand so tight he could almost feel his bones shift in her grip. He had her. She could do this. He willed her to hear his thoughts, feel his support from the vast gap between them. Could he pull her onto his chair? Wrap her up tight? No, it wouldn’t be proper. All he could do was hold her hand and watch.

“I don’t—” Victoria’s breath hitched over her words. Her words died and she forced them out. “I can’t talk about them.” Her chest was rising and falling too fast for her to catch her breath. His mind flashed back to the panic attack Victoria had had back at the opera in Berlin. Was she spiralling? Could he pull her back from the edge?

“Your Grace?”

That was enough. Liam turned to Ana, keeping his fiancees hand tethered to his and the safety he hoped to provide her. “Ana, Victoria’s parents died a long time ago. I’m sure you can imagine that it’s a delicate subject for her.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Ana hurried to apologise, her hand flying to her throat. “So, so sorry.”

“It’s very difficult for Victoria to speak on the matter with anyone, so please don’t take it personally that she can’t go into details with you right now.” Liam managed a smile, hoping to placate Ana who was still gazing with rounded eyes at this sudden drama. “Suffice to say she didn’t have the best start in life, but we’re looking to the future.”

Anas voice was almost a whisper. “Was your home _abusive_ , Your Grace?”

“Well—”

“Liam.” Victoria’s sharp interruption stilled them both. Liam turned her to with a frown, his neck heating. His mouth clamped shut. Victoria pulled her hand back and pressed her palms together in her lap once again. Her eyes were steel. “I don’t want to talk about my home life when I was a kid. It was bad, but I survived and it’s in the past. Liam and I are getting married and that means everything to us. We want it to mean everything to Cordonia as well, which is why we’re embarking on a tour of the noble houses to personally invite them to the wedding. To our wedding.”

“A tour?” Ana asked, faltering in the light of the sudden quick turns of the interview that she couldn’t have possibly foreseen. “An Engagement Tour?”

“A Unity Tour,” Liam said, injecting his voice with as much normalness as he could. “There was an attack on our nation and we are getting married, with the support of our country behind us.”

Ana looked from Liam to Victoria and back again. She seemed to take a second to consider her next move. Then she smiled. “I’m certain it will be a momentous occasion in our history.”

“As am I.”

*

The photo op when it came felt stilted. Victoria had smiled and joked with Ana during the ensuing conversation regarding the wedding on Valentines Day and tried to steer things back to the overriding message that Cordonia needed to come together and face the future as one, strong nation, but her nerves were frazzled. She had managed to pull herself together enough to look at Liam with fondness on her expression, but deep down she was shaken. Ana and her photographer posed the pair for the photo spread in various positions around the room; in the chairs, standing by the window, sitting together on a couch. Victoria held Liams hand or let him wrap his arms around her and they smiled and smiled as the camera snapped.

Her heart was in her throat as she left the interview and she was still tense when they headed for the dining room to eat their lunch with Constantine and Regina. Regina took the lead on keeping the conversation going and Victoria was once again grateful for her calming presence. She could see some of Hana in the older woman and for the first time took a moment to appreciate that Hanas parents had insisted she learn the art of small talk in such situations before she remembered how miserable they had made her and she took it back. Together they discussed the upcoming Unity Tour and their first stop, which would be Fydelia much to Victorias dread, and they dined on grilled fish with seasoned greens. A light meal as they would be taking their dinner at Fydelia, which was why after lunch the two couples split off to complete whatever last tasks remained before departing for the Unity Tour within the hour.

It was then that Victoria was able to let out the words she had swallowed and kept down for the last few hours.

Liam and Victoria headed to their rooms; him talking about the nobles he expected to see hosted by House Amaranth and who he suspected would be absent, when they reached her doorway and she whirled in the empty corridor. “Don’t talk about my parents again.”

The biting words stalled his voice in his chest and he blinked at her for a few moments before he registered her anger. His brows quirked. “Victoria?”

She opened her door, but although she stepped through she turned to block the doorway. He was not welcome inside. “I mean it, Liam. My family, my past is off-limits.”

Liam glanced down the corridor and finding them alone he leaned closer, even so, lowering his voice. “Sweetheart, you were struggling and I was trying to help.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you to speak for me. Not ever.”

She watched his eyes widened as he seemed to pick up on just how angry she was. His mouth opened and closed before he took a breath. “Victoria, can we talk about this?”

“No,” she snapped. Her heart was racing. In the back of her mind, a rational voice was being drowned out by the fight reaction her body had reverted to. “No, I don’t. I want you to hear me and I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t talk about my past. Don’t talk about my parents. Don’t, just… don’t. Let me handle it.”

“Victoria, they’re going to be asking,” Victoria stepped back and closed the door on him cutting him off. She heard him shuffle behind the wooden barricade, but he didn’t try the handle. A sigh breathed through the door. “Alright. I’m sorry.” She didn’t say anything to that. She had nothing to say. Nothing good. “I’ll see you shortly.” And then finally she heard his receding footsteps.

Victoria raised her hands to her head. They were trembling, her whole body shaking with the sensation that she could finally let the feelings loose that she’d wound so tightly inside herself. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor in a drop that might have hurt if she was able to feel it. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like fire, but the fight was seeping out of her, leaving her cold on the ground in her room. A great wave built within her belly, growing and rushing up through her lungs and towards her mouth at great speed. She slid her hands over her face to clap both palms over her mouth to staunch the flow of the great gasping sobs that forced their way out. Infection being expunged from a wound. She tipped forward and curled in on herself, a ball of sorrow and rage and terror. Her eyes stung with tears and her back shook with the ravaging wails she quietened with her hands, one balled into a fist and pressed against her mouth so hard she felt her teeth might shatter.

She knew she would see him when she straightened up. She could feel him enter the room. Smelled the stale cigarette smoke on his clothes and hair, could almost hear the creak of his leathers as he stood over her. Victoria stayed in her ball, head down. She didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to confirm her suspicions.

She was going crazy. That was the only explanation. She was in such a fraught state that she had conjured up her fathers’ ghost to haunt her. Ghosts weren’t real— Victoria didn’t even believe in an afterlife. She didn’t believe in restless spirits roaming the earth. Jimmy Brooks was dead. Buried in the San Quentin prison cemetery when no-one claimed the body. No-one was left to claim it but Riley Brooks when he died, except that she was dead at the time, so into the care of the prison he had gone. She’d googled it once one night on an early anniversary of his death when she was whiskey drunk. Typed his name into Find-A-Grave and there it was, an account of his grave marked with his prison number overlooking the prison. He’d left the prison barely months into his several years-long sentence, but in truth, in death, he would never really leave. His body was cremated, the ashes planted and that was that. There was no way that he could be standing over her as she cried on the floor of her room in the palace of Cordonia. Those worlds would never collide. And ghosts weren’t real.

Victoria wouldn’t look up. She refused to spare a single glance upwards. She wouldn’t dignify her stupid imagination with even a look. Her face was a mess of tears, her hands warm and wet over her face, her hair a black curtain around her. She shook and shook, but wouldn’t raise her head.

The rational voice was louder in telling her that ghosts weren’t real and her father was dead and gone and could never hurt her again. It was there and she could hear it. But somehow the small, frightened whisper remained. _What if he is though?_

“Go away,” she choked on the words, but they escaped her mouth in between sobs. “Go away.”

The smell of the smoke grew more potent. She sucked in a breath and wheezed on the pungent stench. She hated those cigarettes. Hated that whenever she came across the smell in her new life as Victoria it would hit her like a sucker-punch and send her hurtling backwards through time and space to being a child again. Hated that his brand was so specific and prevalent in the US so she would smell it often. She’d been fired from her very first job in New York when the terrible cocktail of the smell of the smoke and the brand of his Bourbon hit her all at once and her nervous system went so quickly into override that she had fainted dead away. He wasn’t there then and he wasn’t in Cordonia now.

The smoke swirled all around her. She would suffocate on it if she stayed small and breathed it in. Her pulse spiked with panic — she would die on the floor of smoke inhalation. It would be a mystery to whoever found her body and she would be talked about for years to come, the woman who died with ash in her lungs alone. Her sobs turned to laughter; the sharp yelps slipping through her fingers. She was shivering still and the sounds seemed to come out of her throat like jagged bolts of lightning. She would die. She was dying. He would kill her with his smoke.

It wasn’t a conscious thought to sit up, but suddenly she was. She braced her palms flat on the floor and pushed. Her hair was stuck to her face and she swept her forearm over her face, smearing strands of black with tears. She inhaled deeply. The smoke was gone. She blinked through the film of her tears.

There was nobody in the room. _Of course_ , there was nobody in the room, she told herself crossly, her hysteria snapping away with the sudden rush of blood to her head. She was alone and safe and the smell was gone. She had imagined it. She was stressed. She was fine.

Victoria pushed back further to sit on her backside, her legs stretching out ahead of her. They were fizzing with life after lying on them and the discomfort stole her attention. For several long minutes, she cleared her mind of everything but the pins and needles crawling up and down her thighs.

She was alive. Jimmy was dead. Ghosts weren’t real.

When she forced herself to her feet again Victoria glanced at the clock. Fifty minutes had passed since Liam had left her room. Her heart lurched. It had only been seconds, hadn’t it? She turned and jumped at her own reflection in the vanity. A wild woman with hair in a tangled cloud around her head, face streaked with tears. They would be leaving imminently. Victoria shoved aside any thoughts of her past, ignored the gnawing guilt for pushing Liam away and got to work on herself to tame her moment of madness.

*

“…so ideally you’ll want to take advantage of the fact that Duke Karlington is actually present at the estate for once, and don’t forget to use the proper honorific — he is fastidious about such things.”

Victoria nodded along, but Bertrand’s voice was beginning to grate. He stopped for a moment and caught his breath, but after a few moments — moments of blessed silence in which Victoria believed she might have a spare few seconds to gather her thoughts — he turned back to her in the car and launched into a new diatribe. In some ways, it was a good distraction. The car was big enough for Victoria, Liam and their friends, but it felt very cramped indeed trying to fit all of the tension inside it.

Victoria sat next to Liam with their thighs touching the whole way and it still felt cold between them. Liam was reserved and he had brought work with him so that mood was easily explained away by him burying his head in various documents. Hana and Maxwell had brought their own work along and were comparing notes. Victoria caught the odd word here and there: organza, almonds, lilies. She deduced they were talking about the wedding and that was enough for her to switch off. Maxwell had some new idea to have the wedding all pink and really cash in on the Valentines aspect. He had brought up a new Pinterest board with handcrafted angel wings so that she could be led down the aisle by a bunch of small children in draped cloth carrying bows instead of flowers. Whatever kept him from worrying about Justin, she thought, but she didn’t want to be a part of it. Lastly, there was Drake, sitting somehow alone in the midst of the group, reading a book.

Victoria held her phone in one hand and nodded. Her head hurt. She wanted to lean into Liam but didn’t feel like she could lest she disrupt his work. Not that he would want her to after the way she had spoken to him. Her fingers tightened on the phone.

“Victoria, are you listening?”

She blinked. Her gaze had wandered. Shit. “Of course.”

Bertrand didn’t seem convinced. “Where does Godfrey spend the majority of the year then?”

“England.”

“Very good. And what is his duchy titled?”

“Karlington.”

“And—”

“Leave Quinn alone.” Victoria looked past Bertrand to Drake who still had his eyes deep in his book. The cover flashed as he shifted his seat and Victoria caught the gold foil on the authors’ name. William Goldman. So her Christmas present to him had come in useful after all. The first real smile she had felt all day landed on her face at the sight. “You’ve been drilling her the whole ride. If she hadn’t got it by now she never will and you risk melting her brain to mush.”

“Drake, I appreciate your concern, but this is my job, not yours and I’m certain Victoria can handle it,” Bertrand said, sounding more confident than she felt. Drake lowered the book and fixed a stern eye on the Beaumont.

“Uh-huh. Have you been to see my sister yet?”

The sudden twist in the conversation caused Bertrand to blanch. Victoria hid her widening smile behind her hand as the Duke blustered. Drake threw Victoria the tiniest of winks and went back to his book now that he had succeeded in shutting Bertrand up. Victoria revelled in the sudden silence, leaning back against her seat and turned towards the window. The rolling hills of Cordonia passed her in a blur of snow.

The silence only lasted until the very last leg of the journey. As the beautiful manor loomed into view ahead, transformed by the weather into something even more magical than it had been the last time Victoria had visited, Bertrand turned in his seat again. “Victoria, remember, part of this sojourn is to win the house onside, but more than that you must reconcile with Madeleine.”

“I know,” Victoria said, her heart sinking. How she was going to do that she had no idea. “At least in public we need her to back us, right?” She risked a glance to Liam, but he didn’t look up.

“No, more than that.” Bertrand pressed. Victoria looking back at him, confused. “You need a press secretary for the tour and I am, well… I have been proven ill-equipped.”

“What?” Victoria shook her head. “No. You got me through two tours—”

“I aided you through the first tour by the skin of our teeth and look where that ended up.” Bertrand cut in sharply. Victoria closed her mouth in surprise; she had never known him to deliberately interrupt her like that. He exhaled through his nose and met her eyes, his brown pair soft and sorry. “I failed you during the first tour, which is why I recruited Justin to aid you in the second. And now he’s… he’s unable to return to his position right now and we need someone right now. I cannot lead you now.”

“Bertrand?” It was Maxwell who spoke, scooting closer and leaning over to reach his hand out to clasp his brother on the back.

“No, this is a good thing.” Bertrand smiled, though his eyes were decidedly misty. It struck Victoria that this had to feel especially difficult for the duke to speak so plainly in front of all of them, but then she wasn’t the only one who had been affected by the New Years Eve attack. They were all changed and Bertrand, perhaps, realised that there was a time for being proper, and a time for speaking his truth surrounded by people who loved him. She added her hand to him, touching his arm. “You have outgrown what I can provide, Victoria.”

“What does Madeleine have to do with that?” It was Drake who asked. Liam finally looked up from his papers, though he hadn’t appeared to read anything for the past ten minutes, listening with averted gaze to the self-confessed shortcomings of Bertrand.

“I believe countess Madeleine will be the perfect person for the job.” Bertrand declared with great assurance. “Her fastidious attention to detail, her awareness of the press and how to work them and I believe she may rival even me when it comes to the vast historical knowledge of Cordonia. She would see you through this.”

Victoria sat back with a sigh. “You really think so?”

“He has a point, sweetheart,” Liam said softly. “I must admit that I rather assumed you and I would just share my secretary, but Bertrands right: you need your own.”

“Madeleine would be a force to be reckoned with.” Hana put in, shooting Victoria an apologetic look. She knew better than anyone how Madeleine had spoken to her away from the public, away from Liam. She also knew, as did Victoria, how Madeleine had conducted herself with the press.

“I guess it would be smart to use her powers for good instead of evil,” Maxwell shrugged. “Harness the power of her type A personality for the win.”

Victoria lifted her hand to her mouth and bite down on her thumbnail. That was practically a unanimous decision and yet she felt doubt curl inside her. Madeleine hated her. How could she not?

Drake closed his book with a snap. “Have you all gone mad? Madeleine has got to be _pissed_ , and I mean in the extreme, with Quinn. She’s not going to put that aside and rally around her goddamn wedding to her ex-fiance for what? The greater good?”

Victoria shut her eyes and groaned, lifting her fingers higher to rub at her forehead. Her head was pounding at the thought. “Actually I think she might. When you put it like that Drake… she loves Cordonia. She told me that the whole reason she wanted to be queen was to serve her country. I think she’ll keep hating my guts and I don’t blame her, but if the choice comes down to sucking it up and helping the crown or nursing her wounds and letting us fail… I think she’ll suck it up.” Victoria shook her head. “It’s not fair though.”

“Damn straight,” Drake huffed again. “You shouldn’t have to grovel to that woman.”

“No,” Victoria countered looking directly at him. He paused in his irritation on her behalf and she held his gaze. “It’s not fair on her.”

Liam slid his papers into his leather satchel in the quiet and peered through the window. “We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is Be OK by Ingrid Michaelson. 
> 
> I enjoyed the wedding planning fluff of this game, but I can't avoid the angst. You know me!


End file.
